Sorry about the lack of blog posts but I have been dealing with a heavy nicotine addiction and was hardly in a state to walk let alone write. Not that you actually have been waiting for this. Sorry about being arrogant.
When I was born my native tribe assigned me a spirit animal. This animal would always be there to guide me and stay by my side through all my trials. It was a frog. I have a phobia of frogs. I fear and loathe them. They plague me in my dreams and in my waking life. They are disgusting little creatures; slime given an animated form but no soul to save them from their destructive nature. Plus they’re icky.
When I was little, but not little enough for this not to be embarrasing, I was scared of the dark. This is because the dark is inhabited by creatures. If you have ever lived in queensland you will know this. The creatures I speak of are loathesome, warty, slimy, ugly demons who will eat and fuck anything. I speak, of course, about cane toads. They were always there. hanging on the edge of the darkness. Hopping about with random and unnerving movements. They are not scared of you. You can walk right up to them while armed and they will not hop away. They will grow larger. And then pods on their shoulders will burst open and spit poison at you. None of this is an exaggeration. I am a nervous wreck writing this. They are really scary.
When I was a teenager the fear of them never left me. It had only grown larger and more irrational. It spread to any amphibian. Even the green tree frogs that are described by so many as cute. Anyway, I am 17, living in brightview (you do not know where that is). I have not seen a cane toad in ages because the house we live on is raised and thankfully the horrible creatures of the night can not climb stairs. As my room is the only one without a fan I am graced with my family’s only ancient and extremely volatile air-conditioner. I run it constantly during summer because I have never had to pay a power bill. I wake one morning to the sound of croaking. It is coming from my air conditioner. I walk up to it and turn it off. the sound continues. I shine a little torch inside and can see one little beady eye staring back at me. I try to ignore it. Surely it will be gone by tomorrow right? I wake up the next morning. I yawn and stretch like a disney princess and roll over. Sitting on my pillow, facing me, is a frog. It is the colour of dust and old shit and it is sitting on my fucking pillow watching me while I fucking sleep. I flail. I’m good at that. I stand up, my blankets and pillow are on my floor. I am breathing hard. I can not find the frog. It is gone. This happens everyday for three fucking weeks.
I am still 17 (In the story not right now. Sorry for thinking you might be stupid enough to think that.). It is the day of the final english exam. They will show a documentary and we have to write a response to it. They have not revealed the details of what we will be seeing at all. They start up the video player. First thing that comes up on the television is a little girl playing with a cane toad the size of an irish wolfhound. The entire documentary is about cane toads. They are eating everything and fucking like bandits and taking over Australia from the top down. It goes for an hour. I have three panic attacks during it. The most my classmates hear from me is a little whimper. I get an A.
One thing before I go. I know this one is a little long but dang if this don’t do my nerves up wretched. I am in grade eight. I am a little weedy kid, nervous and skinny and with a lot of personality disorders. I am sitting in graphics. I am alright at it. I can’t draw very straight lines but I am way ahead of the rest of the class. The teacher generally employs me as a teachers aid. I am sitting next to one of my only friends. I need to pee really bad. I turn to her and say “I need to pee really bad.” She laughs. I put my hand up and ask the teacher if I can be excused so I can relieve myself. The heartless cunt says no. I am holding on for dear life. I get really nervous. When I get nervous I get flatulent, one of my best qualities. I am now holding on on both ends. A little gas slips out. My friend hears it. I know she heard it. I have to say something to save face. I whisper “Frogs.”