I was supposed to eat lunch around an hour ago. The leftover spaghetti was already on the microwave and I was seated but at that point, I heard a little bird chirp from some device across the table. Everything pretty much went spinning from there so I proceeded to signing into Blogger with an empty stomach to blog instead, which I'm doing now.
It only occurred to me in the middle of everything: One is a lonely number, but one + zero is not. Nobody probably understands the significance I see in that almost-mathematical statement, but that is one part of the whole sad shebang. A lot is happening lately and I'm not even aware of everything yet but my God, if there's really a way out, I'd take it.
God forbid, I'm not thinking of suicide but a thought came up. Pretend there's an armored policeman and a blue-collar worker standing next to him in a subway station. It's totally mismatched but whatever. A terrorist with Dual Uzis of some sort fires his guns and somehow, the bullets end up in the chests of said people. One of the two stands up while the other one stays down.
You probably won't understand that metaphor either but I couldn't shrug it off. People who have less defense mechanisms (e.g. fallback friends, lifetime purposes, et cetera) are more likely to suffer from the pang of anguish. That is what I hate about living with people who think inconsiderately. The damages done are dissimilar but they never think of it that way.
And no, I'm not talking about myself. I've reached the point of not caring about what confuses me or you. I don't even think I'm overreacting anymore. It's the "Restless Heart Syndrome," according to Green Day. I'm now off to reheat the spaghetti that should have been inside me by now if I hadn't been bothered by the little chirp that set off a massively self-centered chain reaction of happiness, CW birthday greetings, Twitter updates, WTF's, underused emoticons, overused expressions, text messages, quasi-disappointing reactions, quasi-distressing realizations, unreleased Green Day songs, sadness, and starvation.
I'm holding in too much. I don't even understand me or why this hallway I'm in is looking a lot darker. God, I'm just sorry for myself.
It only occurred to me in the middle of everything: One is a lonely number, but one + zero is not. Nobody probably understands the significance I see in that almost-mathematical statement, but that is one part of the whole sad shebang. A lot is happening lately and I'm not even aware of everything yet but my God, if there's really a way out, I'd take it.
God forbid, I'm not thinking of suicide but a thought came up. Pretend there's an armored policeman and a blue-collar worker standing next to him in a subway station. It's totally mismatched but whatever. A terrorist with Dual Uzis of some sort fires his guns and somehow, the bullets end up in the chests of said people. One of the two stands up while the other one stays down.
You probably won't understand that metaphor either but I couldn't shrug it off. People who have less defense mechanisms (e.g. fallback friends, lifetime purposes, et cetera) are more likely to suffer from the pang of anguish. That is what I hate about living with people who think inconsiderately. The damages done are dissimilar but they never think of it that way.
And no, I'm not talking about myself. I've reached the point of not caring about what confuses me or you. I don't even think I'm overreacting anymore. It's the "Restless Heart Syndrome," according to Green Day. I'm now off to reheat the spaghetti that should have been inside me by now if I hadn't been bothered by the little chirp that set off a massively self-centered chain reaction of happiness, CW birthday greetings, Twitter updates, WTF's, underused emoticons, overused expressions, text messages, quasi-disappointing reactions, quasi-distressing realizations, unreleased Green Day songs, sadness, and starvation.
I'm holding in too much. I don't even understand me or why this hallway I'm in is looking a lot darker. God, I'm just sorry for myself.
