fucking copulating insects

is the meaning of fucking the same as copulating?
or does it depend on the tone in which the title of this post needs to be read? the first word, that is , fucking in this case, is a swear word, which is used to describe the fucked up ness, or in bridget jones terms, the "fuckwittage" of the rest of the phrase, i.e. "copulating insects". that explanation over, this post is about the black insects that lie sit on the wall under the tubelight outside medusa's door, and the ones that enter her room in the dead of the night and scare the shit out of her.
after something like two and a half Weeks, medusa realized that both the insects are one and the same, and then for another half week she had to wonder why the inside insects are double the size of the outside ones. the answer, when arrived at, proved to be simple. the inside insects are actually two of the outside ones, joined together at the place where their asses should be, and flying away to glory, possibly copulating.
but the question the remains unanswered, why do they have to fuck inside medusa's room when they can do it outside as well?

five things about medusa

no one, and medusa means absolutely no one has ever tagged medusa for anything, and so it must be obvious to even the casual observer that she is at her wits' ends, not that it is too difficult a situation to achieve, now that medusa has PMS and terrible bodyache and is feverish and is madly depressed.
but that said and done, since dave has been the most regular reader that medusa has ever had,, how can she not do what he wants her to?
one however has to careful, otherwise five things about medusa might become a chronicle of her various ailments.
first, the thing  that has to be compulsorily posted:


PLEASE LEAVE THE FOLLOWING IN ALL POSTS
'Remember that it isn't always the sensational stuff that writers are looking for, it can just as easily be something that you take for granted like having raised twins or knowing how to grow beetroot. Mind you, if you know how to fly a helicopter or have worked as a film extra, do feel free to let the rest of us know about it.'

1. medusa measures time by the gap between two cigs, two mints, two trips to the loo, two sms and two gulps of water. by carefully spacing them out, she can spend fifteen minutes successfully without getting bored but not doing anything.

2. medusa has been in love with the same man for three and a little bit more than half years now, having fallen in and out of love with seven other people in the meantime. boy friend wants to get married someday, medusa however cringes at the thought. the cringing might not solely be the result of reading on family and its oppressiveness for the purpose of getting a thesis out of it. medusa just cant think of the time when this forever long distance relationship will actually take place in the same city, and the thwo of them will find time and place to be together.

3. medusa does not know how to cook. neither do her father, mother or sister (the four who constitute a modern day nuclear family). so without the presence of their housekeeper, who has been there for the last thirty years, medusa and her family would have gone hungry.

4. in class four, medusa started reading a book called "dui yaar er joto kando", a bengali translation of a russian novel whose english version would be something like "the adventures of two friends". the book was borrowed from a classmate, and she dint allow medusa to read beyond the fourth chapter. for two years after that, medusa searched for that book in all kinds of places. and finally found it at the end of Std. V. so as the two friends graduated from the 5th to the 6th Std, medusa did as well, and it has been her favourite book ever since.

5.medusa's orkut fortune of the day was: You will be advanced socially, without any special effort.


cant think of anyone to tag, simply because medusa no longer knows who all read this blog regularly anymore.

let me not think of today untill tomorrow

Medusa used to think she has a disposition irreconcilable to unhappiness, she used to believe she is ontologically happy. and if everything else fails, retail therapy will always work.
but then, this naive superhero had not foreseen a day when there will not be any money to spend and PMS will raise its monstrous head, and despite her feminist objections against the discursive formation known as PMS, she will have nowhere to go.
this evening, therefore, Medusa sat down and rethought her ontological dispensation amid some free flowing tears. she was so depressed about being depressed, about nothing in her life, and in the lives of those around and connected to her, being right, or even left, that she just could not stop crying. and she hated herself for being depressed, for giving in to PMS.
bu then, something happened. there was new friend, with all the affection of the world who held medusa while she sobbed, and got her out of the gloom.
how anticlimactic no?
and in consequnce medusa hated herself even more for having to resort to outside help to sort out her messy head. adn a result, it is still messy.

we got this afternoon/ you got this groovy tune

as usual, dont knwo why medusa decided to name the post the way she did.
it has been a fucked up week. (kindly to be excusing medusa's language, she seems to be still under the fucking influence of "the departed")
one friend passed away, another was hospitalised. one's grandmum died, while medusa's is about to.
perfect time to end this post.