Saturday, August 7, 2010

Flued Reflections

   Panic. When pain gets you by surprise, writhing you off your ability to walk, think, speak – you panic. Not because you might be dying but because the very definition of your humanity is taken from you.  Being basically inhuman in a human body  is as good as dying, only worse. You want to scream expletives, hurl your fist towards the nearest breathing object but can't all because you are incapable. Even the expression of the closest kind for anger and pain can only be imagined so instead of concretizing your anger, you just panic deep down - the most effective way to torture oneself.
   You get dreams that you are incapable juxtaposed to other more able beings. You start to question what the shit did you exist for if you can't be good at the only thing you deem yourself capable of. And then you lose it.
   The earth still turns you are surprised. When you wake up you see that it has been hours since. What you thought was a lifetime of suffering from the dream that gets you in your weakest state is only a good two hours in earth time.
   TWO HOURS! How much school work could I have done had I been awake?
   Not that I am complaining, as I already am. But seriously, a flu days before my hell week commences? I might as well be a hyena prattling about waiting for others to prattle with me. BUT. SHIT. Just when I need to do all these academic responsibilities so I can finally be free, I get trapped in this flu. Yes people. Freedom takes a lot of work.  Let me lay down how it's going to be like for me next week.
   EXAM. PAPER. EXAM. PROBLEM SET. REPORT. PAPER. PAPER. In that order, for two effin' days.
   And that's just for school. There are a few other things that needed attending like...
  •     finding the perfect gift for an awesome friend who chose to spend her 20th   birthday with our other      friends and me over her other fab friends who could throw a decent party for her.
  •    meeting with another friend  who's coming to Manila to watch Cats and going out for the BEST BOOZE ever. Talk poetry, money, ourselves, how it's all been, write for the first time TOGETHER, watch the sun rise at Baywalk and all those equally glorious men (ok. I really don't give a shit about the latter.), take great pictures... blah blah blah. Spending time with her would be a great catch-all phrase. All else would fall into place.
It's not really much, but man. What about sleep, pee, shit, food, shit?
  Oh. And there's also work. I can still feel the thickness of the receipts that I need to encode. How much work I need to do to help those kids put up a laudable performance for a special event.
   Yeah right. And then I start to imagine all others who are suffering as much (or more) as I but dang. I CANNOT, okay. I only said it to offer variety to my otherwise self-centered production number. Truth be told, I cannot imagine what it's like for others.  Getting all these things done is hard enough. Imagining others with their pain is a lot more time consuming. And in the interest of saving time, I'd rather concern myself with the hell hole I'm in. I'll get back to world peace when I'm done here. Good night.