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Well, classes officially began yesterday. Very few of them seemed to tickle my fancy or fit into my schedule (or any combination in between). I couldn’t sleep at all the night before, save for two measely hours that were accentuated by a nightmare in which I found myself back in my highschool social-prisoncell and dealing with runaway family members (makes no sense to me either, but sure beats the dream in which I was shot in the back twice by a family member, but had no wounds, even though I could feel the two bullets lodged under my skin and stabbing at my ribs), and so my 8.00am alarmbell was a welcomed relief.

I put on some neat clothes and went through whatever grooming rituals guys go through to get ready for first day of classes (which isn’t much). As I ask myself, ”why am I constantly surprised by how much mouthwash burns?”. After a ten-minute bicycle ride to campus I realize,  looking at the list of available classes, that none of the classes offered on the day were suitable for me on that particular day. It was a cold and wet day. By wet, I don’t mean humid nor do I mean rainy as separate states of atmospheric spectacle, but , a combination of the two - this always leaves me unsure about whether I should open up my foldable umbrella or not - and regrdless of my decision I always end up wet.

I come back to my apartment as my landlady carries some ingredients from her apartment and into her beauty salon (both of which are directly under my apartment). Now, I’ve never taken a peak into her beauty salon, but - wow - she’s got a kitchen in there?! I mean, she was carrying chopped-up onions, carrots, and MEAT in a metalic mixing bowl. Even though she openly admits that she belongs to some mumbojumbo cult, I don’t think that this odd image had anything to do with that. She was going to COOK in her salon. This just begged the following question:Does she have a kitchen in there or does she use her beauty equipment to prepare her food? Either way. No wonder I almost NEVER see any customers walk in on her. How does my landlady make money anyways? Oh, that’s right – by overcharging me for this crummy cardboard prisoncell-apartment of mine. Are all the other tenants being overcharged, too, or do they get a cult discount from her for belonging to the cult, too? (How else could you explain her allowing one of my neighbours to have a chihuahua in her apartment and that there different people who walk into the apartment adjacent to mine with the word SALES written on a small, yellowish plastic plaque at odd times of the night, in messy clothes  — I would have to assume that the have something to do with this cult). As a measure to bore out flashbacks of Ira Levin’s “Rosemary’s Baby” from my head, I took a nap.

When I woke up, I went out for a bikeride; the weather was still weird. I dropped off some books at the library and made a stop at one of the local supermarkets. I bought some eggs and some Cha-Soba (Green tea Noodles). As I was arranging things into my fridge, I dropped the last of the ten eggs that I bought. This upset me. An empty spot in the eggrack in my fridge that shouldn’t have been. I scrubbed the floor and soaped it. Extra chores, just what I need.

Realizing that it was useless for me to attempt to sleep, as I was not sleepy at all, I decided to talk to some of my friends. I got creative with msn messenger and my webcam (nothing x-rated, though!) and drove my friends crazy. I made friends in Sofia, Bulgaria and Baltimore, Maryland (USA) laugh at how silly I could get, and I proclaimed myself HASAN REX (Hence the first title of this blog entry). The word `rex` incidentally, comes from ancient Greek word meaning King or Tyrrant (I guess, to the Greeks, Kings and Tyrrants were the same thing).