Snot. Yet another episode of snot-filled nose giving me discomfort. If I get run over by a bus on my way home, I’d be nothing more than a snot explosion. People will look at my remains with disgust. If I get lucky, I might make it in the evening news. Or maybe the morning however unappetizing that might be. They need a fascinating story. Revoltingly fascinating counts.
I refuse to believe that I’m allergic to something I’m yet to find out. I existed for more than a quarter of a century without any form of allergy, what now? I feel like shit though. I have no fever but my body feels heavy just the same.
Heavy. Or maybe it’s the weather. Maybe those overhanging thick gray clouds filling people with uncertainty have something to do with this. Whatever. Maybe I feel shit because I’m just shit.
For “cool” people this calls for a drink. Drown it. Forget it. Tomorrow you’d feel a different kind of shitty. Something a tad more explainable. Something easier to get over with. Maybe after that you’ll be okay. At least for a couple of days you’ll get to function normally. But I’m not cool. The last time I had a bottle was seven, maybe eight years ago. And I looked around me then thinking “this whole thing sucks.” I would’ve been better off downing all the bottles on my own. A date with myself. At least both parties genuinely care about the same stuff.
I hate sappy love songs. Love is a pleasant thing. But so is being logical. There you go, I’m logical. Maybe a little too logical at times. You can hate me for that. That’s fine. Let’s not feign fascination longer than necessary. I wouldn’t want us secretly shooting lasers at each other when we meet. When I find a shirt tacky, I move on. I don’t hang around and provide unsolicited fashion advices. I dress plainly most of the time anyway.
Static on the bus’ television. They put the radio on the speakers instead. But they won’t turn off the damn TV. You’d wish it breaks into countless pieces.
I’m no longer sure whether I’m sick or sleepy. I’ll choose sleepy. -aB