Painful sting in the crack of my ass.
Oh. When something can go wrong, it will go wrong. Murphy's Law functioning today.
For the past few days, my spirit has been in limbo. I don't know why. Issues such as insecurity and incompletion cropped up, when in fact, it shouldn't have been there in the first place. Over-reading. Over-thinking.
I'm an addict for mental gymnastics, thoughts spinning wildly, imagination running amuck, making me curse, making me blind, making me insolent, making me desperate... sad... irrational.
Making me sleepy.
Crash and burn. How I miss the bad, old days when I cursed the institution, waved my middle finger at them wildly, my words vivid among my curses, my logic inseparable from my heart... when I could stand up for what I did, when I stood up for what I did, when I loudly admitted, "Yes, I did that! Yes, I wrote that! Yes, I can assure you, I can prove that!"
Now, I'm in this cul-de-sac, immobile and helpless against the evil forces that violently impaled and wreaked havoc upon the student paper where I honed my skills and sharpened my wits at word-fighting.
Repeatedly, I told my colleagues-in-arms, "We have done our best. The Golden Age had passed, with us in the forefront. We left them -- scathed, bruised, wounded, dilapidated in our battles.We have our legacy. It is for them to keep, or to trash."
I am frustrated. I am helpless. I am immobile.
The rain is beating hard on the metropolis. For the past few days, the full moon slipped in and out of the nimbus, while during the day, rain pelted so hard on the asphalt -- one can sometimes hear bits of asphalt breaking free from the road.
The other night, I overslept during my jeepney ride and woke up near City Hall.
Surprised but woozy, I disembarked with a weary spirit. I decided to walk towards the cathedral, and there sought refuge at the 7-11 by buying lighter fluid for my historical Zippo (a model seven, mind you--lucky number).
As I refilled my lighter, rain fell violently outside. Creatures of the night trooped into the store -- the old man on his way home, the cigarette vendor, the pimp, two couples who seemed fresh out of the motel, and the obnoxious and ubiquitous male "tambays" who had just bought liquor for their drinking spree.
The security guard peeled his eyes out for any shoplifter, while the store clerks were alert at the cash register.
Unmindful, I continued refilling my Zippo. Done with the ritual, I unpacked my jacket and got ready to walk straight into the outpour.
Two hours had passed by midnight when I walked out of the store and walked into the rain. I decided to walk all the way to the house -- some four to five kilometers.
Ah... thunder just roared so hard, it startled a car alarm.
I had missed the walk. Back in high school, when June storms canceled classes with only an hour to spare, we walked from the campus all the way to our barangay, our notebooks and books sopping wet in our supposed-to-be waterproof knapsacks. Later, my shoes would be hung at the dirty grills behind the fridge, while my notebooks and books were spread all over the dining table to dry.
Of course, Nanay would be so angry at me, but at the same time, fussing all over me so that I wouldn't catch colds.