Where Dreams Are Made

For weeks now my mood has been swinging like a pendulum and my body can barely keep up. I feel tired almost all the time, I have morbid nightmares, experience anxiety attacks, and, to top it all off, my hair wouldn't stop falling. I can't wait for the weekend so I could just hole up at home and finish reading Sin City, which was lent to me by a co-worker. Actually, it would be closer to the truth were I to say, "which I boldly asked to borrow from a co-worker I hardly know". Shows what I'd do to get my hands and eyes on a great novel. Anyhoo, I think I'll go home now. I'm tired.

There's a tingling sensation coursing through my arms and legs. Probably the toxic residues of last night's binge drinking. No thanks to my two co-workers who had their birthday blow-out yesterday. Thankfully, I still had my wits about me, as the laurel leaf said. Though I was having difficulty walking a straight line by that time. My feet didn't seem to want to follow the direction my mind instructed them to go. Nevertheless, I still managed to walk straight.

The end of the evening was a different story, however. When I try to recall the events that transpired last night, it feels like there's a gap in my memory. I must've been really drunk as I couldn't even remember how I managed to get some cash from the ATM. And then all I remember was going to Mini-stop to get some bottled water and having this conversation with my office mate that in 2001 (if my memory serves me right), a person in cyberspace was only 19 clicks away from an acquaintance. The logic of which became the foundation of online apps like Friendster. Now, of course, as our network of friends get bigger, the number of clicks decrease. I also remember a part of the conversation where I was in denial about my inebriated state. I was spewing out numbers...5 x 5 is 25...the square root of this is that...and so on. What geekiness, I now realize.

It was a fun night in all. I just had to pay the price--a steep one at that--with this debilitating hangover. Up 'til now, I still feel drunk. I woke up lunchtime with a splitting headache and numb arms and legs. I had lunch with my folks, trying to keep a decent demeanor, hiding the fact that my stomach was all topsy turvy and one tiny mistake could send me throwing up on the table. That could've been really, really ugly. After lunch, I slept again. I hibernated practically the whole day! When I woke up around 5:30pm I felt so weak--as if my limbs were weighing me down. Ugh! I really hate these kinds of hangovers. Downing an assortment of beers (and some wine) was a very ill-advised decision. I had some San Mig light, Red Horse, Strong ice, and half a glass of wine. It's up there in the list of stupidest things to do.

As of this writing, I am still feeling a bit woozy. And I have to repeat the oath I make during a hangover: I'll never drink again.

Got tagged by the laurel leaf, and since this is the second time I've been tagged by her, I'm dutifully acknowledging the tag. I'll try to answer the first tag next time. :)

Okay, off the top of my head, twenty things about me:

1. I love Neil Gaiman, but not as much as I love my hubby.
2. I am an obsessive-compulsive book-aligner. I stack books evenly in bookstore sale bins.
3. When walking, if my left foot semi-trips on an uneven pavement, I'd have to let my right foot semi-trip too, or else I'd be left feeling unbalanced.
4. I'm a sneaker pimp.
5. I have a burning passion for music.
6. When I was a kid I wanted to become an astronomer.
7. I know the scientific name of the common fruit fly: drosophila melanogaster.
8. I never wear purely white socks; if I do, it's because it's part of a costume.
9. I used to have a crush on Richard Dean Anderson as MacGyver.
10. My first boyfriend passed away two years ago.
11. I'm a scaredy-cat.
12. I have alopecia areata. Go ahead and research it.
13. I have low caffeine tolerance but I love coffee.
14. I almost never walk barefoot. The instances that I do, it's on a sandy beach.
15. I used to be extremely moody and teetering-over-the-edge. I've now learned the zen way of life.
16. Most, if not all, of my friends are geeks.
17. I have messianic syndrome.
18. I never knew my biological dad.
19. I have thanatophobia. Go research it as well.
20. I am a manic depressive.

There you go. Or should I say, there I am.

Right now I should be writing the minutes of a forgotten meeting. Right now I should be reading Kurt Busiek and Alex Ross's Marvels. Right now I should be on my way home. Right now I should be sleeping. Right now I should be talking with a friend, waxing philosophical on the nugatory elements of life. Right now I should be lazing about a beach. Right I should be letting a couple of Strong Ice beers calm my nerves. Right now I should be watching a film that would change my life. Right now I should be developing theories that would answer the truth to the number 42. Right now I should be discovering a buried civilization, or a fading constellation. Right now I should be playing the guitar and the jazz chords that I've just recently learned. Right now I should be having dinner at home, or at least preparing for dinner, given that right now is only five to seven. Right now I'm nearly at my wits' end trying to figure out why right now I'm doing something that I shouldn't be doing.

Right now I shouldn't be blogging because right now I should be writing the minutes of a forgotten meeting. Shit, "right now" is right now because it can't exist any other moment. And right now just had to suck majorly, the ugliness resonating across multiverses, and I'm caught in a recursive pattern of ill luck. Because before "right now" was "right now". And now it's still "right now". When will it end?