''the stabs i started feeling about an hour ago.
from a sliver of memory of that thing that made it all feel cheesy, soft, and most of all, special, came a sudden gush of tearful sobs that only i heard. i made sure of that, careful to keep myself down and under my hugging pillow. i even considered biting on it, good thing i was lucid enough still to think that i wouldn't be liking the after-effect come next day.
my blankets formed a sea of bundled mess at the foot of the bed. brunnstrom didn't get off the bed, and fell to the floor, luckily. i kept that book inside the fold of one of the blankets, safely tucked at the foot of the bed, fortunate to have dodged the kick-some feet of mine and the aforementioned bundled mess.
it was past 1am, and the ordeal left me thirsty. by then, i mused, everyone has gone to bed. but still i had to go downstairs with a pair of dark shades on, just to be sure that no one would at least suspect that i had been sobbing, and that my caution with it wouldn't be in vain. and the excuse would be,"Ma, it's allergy. i'll get my antihistamines." then i'll say goodnight not once taking off the shades.
allergy and heartbreak oftentimes do manifest similarly: tears, sobbing under the breath, runny nose, and irritability; but with heartbreak, something has broken. and it's nothing a dose of claritin could and would ever be able to alleviate.
but i am trying to take a strong dosage of tea, and maybe i'll fart away my sadness. or maybe just to make myself feel healthier, thus feel better, in that sort of way.
needless to say that i am extremely downtrodden, especially depressed, and sad and alone. i am all these in that i probably wouldn't laugh over a good span of weeks. i could laugh, but it'd be less heartily. and i also could cry, and that's really sad, all the more.
i am now trying to channel my grief with the only way i know how.
my writing has really been annoying me. the way i construct sentences, my choice of words, my attempts to try to add humor [which i hope dont go unnoticed, no matter how cryptic], et cetera, make it all seem cheesy to me, and i cannot tolerate anymore where the deterioration comes to. although it'd be terribly bad if i were to lose my journalistic identity over this little bit of bullshit that i am experiencing. im delusional, and i dont listen too often.
it's one thing to be bad at something, and another to try and be somebody else.
now im just sleepy. but brunnstrom and braddom are waiting behind me, and juno's creeping slowly on the torrent downloader. i've taken my tea, and cookies are to bake for tomorrow. my canvas shoes are waiting to be painted, and seams undone repaired.
maybe i am talking only to my blog, addressing the non-human but interactive internet. as far as i am concerned, i do this only for myself, with no intention of letting my thoughts get drenched into a pool of general knowledge. i may be half-dreaming right now, but my mind is clear enough to say and confirm with my self that...i...am...not...wwzzzzzzzzzz''