When you’re smacked up in the middle you gotta play.

A milestone (or a piss-drunk earthworm to exaggerate)

April 15, 2011 at around 9PM marked the end of a fight that can be compared to a 12-round bout boxing in an Octagon – something that you think pleasant like a boxing but horrible like three 5-minute UFC fight. 

I am finally going to sleep, unworrying about tomorrow.  The shackles have been removed.  It’s like the strutting of a child with an ice cream, the most delightful flavor, and a balloon, the most colorful there is.  And he’s going down in a park, amused by the cottony clouds hanging between the blue canvas of water and sky.

After 15 hours, at the 12^th hour, I woke up with a start, staring at the graying paints of my rundown boarding house room.  For the first time that looked very surprisingly pleasant to my sleep-drunk eyes.  There was nothing wrong about it.  The patch that was caused by rainwater was like a beautiful art of dark clots of dried blood blobbed in the ceiling.  The chipping plywood hangs like the roofend of a Chinese pagoda. It looked beautiful and it started my day. 

So I stare at it, feeling beautifully empty of numbers and opinions, if you know what I mean.  The remnants of a busy season is just a history soon to repeat itself, and the things that happened along might as well go away as a smoke from a strong fire vanishing into the unknown.  My eyes told me that I should sleep further for it calculated that (during the first three and a half months of the year with a normal sleep hours of eight) I lost half of the normal sleeping hours, which is exactly 420 hours.  Astoundingly, a full eight hours (plus seven) could make up with the lost time.  My blood has been F5-ed (to a computer) and I have got a good cup of coffee by my side to even make it more refreshing. 

A green-eyed monster milestone (or perhaps, a basilisk to give emphasis)

After a week of rounding about the office, of feeling exhausted for every second of tapping movement of fingers to the keyboard, here comes the thing again.  THE THING that every single soul, resurrected from the dead of the silence that the one-week night of no overtime, no pressure, no nothing has brought to them, feared has come back to life again, more powerful, more vengeful, darker – a grinning, hissing comeback.

Short-lived (I really love this word already.), perhaps the meanest of word (to contradict) ever lurked in my bagful, near-empty sense of vocabulary that used to be overflowing before I got close to the door that was entrance to the Firm.  Short-lived like the elusive state long of dormant rest period that we call a nap.  Short-lived like the five-second push-pull series and you are effing tired (?).  Short-lived like Charice singing on Glee just to satisfy demands and increase ratings.  Short-lived… crap… (I hate the word already.)

But this is how it goes, that’s how we left it.  It’s like making a three-billion Korean won decision before entering the gilded portals of the Firm.  You take the challenge or rot.  You either make it but rot, also.  You either leave but you’re not making any sense at all (then you eventually rot).  It’s like choosing whether to live or die: living it is dying, leaving it is living off rock and roll (that is, the fun). 

And so, here I am. Having a time finishing one-page bullshit while waiting for this guy on my left finish what he is supposed to finish for my review, so that we can get off, so that we can call the day at exactly 4AM, so that I can have a short-lived sleep of two hours, like that is enough to muster the energy for a 20-hour bout with the paper and computer later.  Basta ya!  I just drafted my resignation letter dated May 31, 2011, effective a twelfth of a period in order to celebrate a paper anniversary.

“Holy Camoly!  That cow is huge.” – If you can make sense out of that sentence, then we should really meet up and come up with something to do aside from the thoughts that lurking in the back of your mind.