Dear Me,

Get your head in the fucking game!

Hugs and Kisses,

Me

With thanks (and apologies) to Pupil’s Disconnection Notice and McDonald’s for giving me my lead actor.

I’m thinking I won’t be writing about anything political in a long time.

I rarely write about this [insert profanity of choice here] government anyway, unless it’s tax season.  It’s just that when I wrote something a bit controversial this week, I got a few very serious answers that I wasn’t really ready for.  I know blogging opens you up to serious discussion, but back up a bit kids.

Why so serious?

Well I did get good and friendly answers that made me think.  The only problem is that I’m not in a very good mood for thinking.  My brain has been mush these past few days.

I’m not blaming the commenters, okay.  Just making that clear.

It’s just that I’m not really in the mood for seriousness, and lest I be mistaken for a serious blogger, I aim to blog mostly about worthwhile issues such as Wu Chun’s gayness from now on.

As you may have noticed by now, I’m not exactly adept at small talk.

And by “adept”, of course, I mean “extremely incapable, bordering on paralysis”.

That’s precisely the reason why I’m always late for class. Part of it is laziness, too, of course, and the occasional traffic jam (I drive to UP, ergo I’m an ass), but I’m really trying to avoid something that happens whenever the professor isn’t in the classroom and the students are left to their own devices. At some point in this lull, someone is bound to turn to me and talk.

There’s a reason why I always sit alone in the back of the class, you know. It’s precisely because I try to avoid human contact as much as possible, and sitting next to a dust-covered desk with unidentified paraphernalia is my preferred way of escaping any attempts at inane chitchat.

Last week, some classmate tried to engage me in this boring ass pastime, asking me a bunch of questions I knew she didn’t really care to ask. Which brings me to my point. What the hell is wrong with you people? If you’re not actually interested in what you’re asking, why ask at all?

By the way, classmate, if you happen to be reading this (and I know you aren’t, borderline illiterate person), please do not attempt to chat me up about anything written here. Please. Otherwise I will be forced to commit suicide by eating myself from the feet up. With no ketchup.

My friend Joel calls it my neurosis, which it probably is, but I’m actually being logical here. What is the point of subjecting ourselves to such inanities?

Forced with characters unwilling to respect my need for catatonic episodes, I either respond with senseless, rambling answers or incoherent grunts. I do realize that responding is non-optional social convention (yes, I am obsessed with The Big Bang Theory, and I will continue quoting dialog from the show for as long as I like), so I do make an effort at the very least. I can’t give humanly decent answers, though, so people eventually look at me funny and find someone else to torment with their pointless chatter.

It’s not that I don’t speak to people at all. I do, but only if I like them, which is sort of rare. Otherwise, it’s just me either clamming up or continuously spouting nonsense in barely recognizable sentences.

So well, yeah, that’s it.

Must. Sleep. Now.

**EDIT**

My legs have been reduced to painful mush after walking the entire length from our office to Glorietta.

Fuck. That. Shit.

The site was down for almost a week, thanks to the “Move”, but I’m back up now.  Too tired to talk about this, but I’ll be up and running again soon.  I still have two other sites to move.

That’s all.

I’m not very productive these days.

I’m always late for work, I can’t wake up to my alarm clock and I just want to stay home the entire day. Or week. Or month, maybe.

It’s not that I don’t want to work. Okay, so it’s not exactly like I love going to work, but at the very least it’s not something I dread, like going to the dentist or getting my driver’s license renewed. I want to work. I want to be there on time and be a useful employee. So much for good intentions, though. I often get to the office by as much as an hour or more late.

Yes, I’m a horrible employee.

I can’t even force myself to write my freelance projects. It’s like there’s no strength left in me.

Maybe it’s because I was sick for almost a month past, what with the bout with ulcer and whatnot. Up to this day I can’t finish a MacDonald’s chicken burger on my own, and that sucks big time.

Or maybe I’m just not being me. Or tired of being me.

What I’ve realized lately is that I need more time to play Nogs, my beautiful guitar. I just cleaned him with Pledge (partly because the dust is making my allergies act up) and he’s now shining like brand new. I just think I need more time to be a bum.

I miss waking up at ten and lounging around the house in clothes I had slept in the night before.

I know it sounds stupid, but there are days when I just want to run off somewhere with Nogs and do something unexpected. I’m the most unimaginative person ever; people know I hate disruptions to my schedule and pattern.

Classic Type A + obsessive-compulsive personality + god syndrome = ME.

There’s no explanation for this, but today I just want to take the first flight to Easter Island and hide. I don’t know why. Maybe part of me is sick of this. Sick of being a responsible person.

It’s only when I play the guitar that I get a feeling of relaxation and freedom. I suck horribly, but when my fingers touch the strings, I just feel like there’s nothing left to worry about but getting to the next chord in time without losing the strum pattern. Everything else just vanishes into thin air.

I’m not making sense, but I don’t really care.

All I want to do is hole up in some foreign country, forget me and everything else, then play my guitar.

Since I make no sense, I’ll just leave you with this clip of Pepe Smith going nuts. Pardon the poor quality; all I had was my phone

Yes, I’m high again.

The last time I was this high I couldn’t laugh at the funniest jokes. My insides were shaking but the mind refused to communicate. Maybe that’s what they call catatonia.

No, I’m not depressed. Yes, I had a tooth extracted yesterday. Just like before, I was ordered to take Amoxicillin and Mefenamic Acid three times a day for one week to lessen the swelling and minimize the massive pain that my goddamn tooth was shooting out.

For days on end I couldn’t eat properly. Add that to my hyperacidity problems and you’ve got a diet in the making. Which was sort of horrible, since I can’t not eat when everyone’s joyfully chowing down. It’s sheer torture.

I nearly cried, too, because of the stupid pain that my tooth was causing. Nearly, because I find it difficult to cry under most circumstances. Even pain cannot make me cry, which is weird because I cried when I watched Simba’s father get trampled in a stampede. Un-fucking-explainable.

So I finally got it out yesterday, after the dentist mistakenly cleaned my teeth. Apparently he had no idea I wanted an extraction, and he did a general cleaning instead. But he was nice enough to pull my tooth out afterwards, after my entire mouth had gone numb with three shots of anaesthesia.

Now I’m fine. I’ve been eating tons (as much as my hyperacidity allows) and I’m happy. Plus I’m mandated to take my drugs for three more days. I might go beyond the three days required, though, just to stay this relaxed. Seriously. It’s a bit weird, but taking this cocktail of meds has brought me to new sedative lows. I get bouts of excitement and lots of bouncing, but then I suddenly shut up and feel the need to ignore the rest of the world.

I didn’t get into any fights on the MRT, too, thanks to the relaxing effects of my doctor’s prescription. I like this new sedate me.

Unfortunately, one side effect is that I’m constantly hearing Helter Skelter in my head for no good reason. Which isn’t entirely a bad thing, since I love this song, but it gets a little disconcerting when Paul won’t stop singing inside your head.

I’ll supplant Paul with a bit of Jim this time, just because the latter’s a bit more apt in this particular situation:

You know that it would be untrue/You know that I would be a liar/If I was to say to you/Girl we couldn’t get much…higheeeeer

Yeah.