Fever Pitch Frustration

I was at my friend Adele's house in grade 3, when it first happened. Somebody proposed a game of charades. Ever since that moment at the base of his cream coloured carpeted stair case I have despised the game, and all variations on the stupid theme, drama classes included. I'm someone who appreciates language, obviously. Why would anyone waste their time, let alone find amusement in, trying to act out a dumb phrase. It doesn't make sense to me. We developed speech for a reason.

Now, in some ironic twist of fate my whole life has become a game of charades. In 95% of instances, I can't talk with anyone around me I am constantly forced to try and convey my needs and desires by elaborate hand motions and facial expressions. It got old, fast. But Slovak has been a whore of a language to grasp, despite my quasi-tenacious efforts. So here I am, victim of circumstance in this cruel, cruel world of ours: Hating myself every time I'm obliged to give a thumbs up.

Case in point: I tried to buy a new phone today, because the piece of shit I've been using -Previously employed by my flatmate Sarp circa 2004- finally bit the dust. After an hour of such said acting game I thought, at last, I was set to walk away with a fresh handset. Then, all of a sudden, my new friend Lucia said she had to make a phone call. Then she made another. Immediately thereafter, she informed me that unfortunately, because my residence visa is only one year (that's all you can get, by the way) and all the phone contracts are 2 years, there was absolutely no way she would be able to help me. Despite my pleading and attempts at reasoning with her I walked home, in the sleet, spiting T-Mobile.

I would start drinking but I have about 45 other things to do. Who knew being unemployed could be so much work? Oh yeah, I might have forgot to mention I quit my job. More to come regarding that when my blood temperature drops from a boil to a mere simmer.