I feel a bit sick. There’s this faint feeling of nausea that has not left me for a minute over the past two days. I have casually managed to elaborate several irrelevant and imprecise theories while on my quest for a plausible explanation. I’m definitely interested in the possibility of finding a cure, but the whole idea of dissecting and analyzing the overall symptoms and the context in which they appeared, on a detective’s fashioned gesture toward the final explanation that could possibly lead to the already mentioned and longed for cure, is something that barely thrills me at all, and therefore has become a real drag to tackle as a mandatory activity.
I thought about food poisoning, but I’m not as sick as to seek the explanation on something that drastic. I thought of hunger, but I’ve just eaten and I’m still feeling bad, and I thought I might be hangover, but my last drink was yesterday at 10pm. and it most definitely did not get me drunk.
Today is dead. I mean, not really dead, but maybe in a comatose state. That would make more sense.
I’ve just finished taking a shower. The meticulous type, you know? Scrubbing and exfoliating and abusing from soap and leaving the hair conditioner on for longer than usual as to possibly improve its hair damage fixing qualities. Now I’m sitting all coy and pampered in this luminous toy-like case I’ve come to understand my apartment as. I spent yesterday cleaning it thoroughly. There are fresh flowers on an empty vodka bottle on the bar stable, next to a set of delicately arranged red candles. Everything is so correctly placed, the view of it all makes it kind of disturbing.
Outside the ample windows, a glimpse of cloudy moody melancholic sky becomes visible. The unbreakable peace is so overwhelming not even music is allowed to burst its suffocating perfection.
Soon after I’m done writing this, and once I pay my rent, I intend to go out for a walk. The fact I’m already mentally picking out my outfit, speaks unashamedly about the outstandingly pathetic position the lack of productive projects ahead drags me into.
I try not to apologize over spare time, since one divine right I’ve learned it must be taken as, but to build one crazy plan, and dispense with the very necessary back-up strategy, is a policy I’m never letting myself apply again in my very own life.
I stand up, and take a few short steady steps to the kitchen. I open the fridge, and proceed to subtract the necessary elements to pour myself a severe but polished gin-tonic. A hint of lemon juice et voilà. Needles to say, it’s barely three in the afternoon, and I’m nowhere close to having the kind of energy, slash enthusiasm, required to accomplish something as cheerful and meticulous as fine arts, or responsible and exhausting as climbing up to the top floor for a workout session in the gym. Besides, I just showered, which put me in a very “gentleman” mood, driving me to feel like smoking cigars and pouring myself classy yet masculine drinks while sitting on a large wicker chair, clad in an incomprehensible white linen suit.
I must see the Brightside though. Now I know I’m no lucky bastard, I can finally stop expecting from life things that she will simply not grant me. I’ve been lucky enough already, as to be struck with extra luck these days. Faith’s a fair judge, and he knows his craft inside out, damned the reasons he might have, or blessed them for that matter.
I have my drink, life’s good. And it’s cloudy enough for me to wear my over-sized long military green trench-coat.
…
Sometimes things are just puzzles. Oh so many times I’ve had no way to figure them out. Sometimes I wish I could know. Know exactly what the fuck is going on.
Veiled truth and cryptic messages.
Remember that exact second, when everything froze, and I gasped, as the blood hurried its way back through my veins, hustling my heart to make it up for the interruption?
When everything died right after, what went through your mind?
I’m guessing are the things we never quite manage to know, the ones that keep us all awake at night, the ones that keep us all alive.
…
I’ve just re-read the whole thing. And now I feel the urge to sell myself as something else other than a plain manic-depressive poor little sucker.
The cathartic ways of this blog, explain why’s so easy for me to bitch about everything right here. I’m not as sad as I might come off and on every day basis, I keep my existential angst to a minimum. If you wanna see brighter me (it’s not all that bright either, but is definitely a far enough cry from this horrendous attempts), then invite me for a cup of tea. Cheers to all of you and cheers to me.
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