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Tuesday, April 10, 2007 |
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| Don't Cry for Me Argentina |
There is nothing worst than a wave of fever to break a man's spirit.
I may have had survived emotional catastrophes, shunned off personal traumas, overdosed on bitter pills of pride and resurrected from relational deaths, but nothing beats me into a bloody, senseless pulp than that of a fever.
I admit that my threshold to physical pain is nothing short of a butterfly wing, but this throbbing, the heat, the helplessness, the chills, the sweating, the untraceable ache leave me blubbering litanies to redo my karma.
All reasons fall apart and one starts to fall into a state of paranoia. For one, I am furiously racking my brain for some elaborate cause for this physiological malfunction.
1. Is it due to that funeral wake outside the apartment that I just scoff and passby everyday, sniding irreverent comments about how the "taong bayan" desecrate the sincerity of the ritual of paying last respects by erecting an altar of incessant gambling through Bingo and Saklaan that lasts wee hours in the morning? Is the ghost of the dead mad because I'm not betting?
2. Have I finally sparked irrevocable anger from a moderm urban "mangkukulam" by telling her I don't need a Citibank Credit card and later thought about her hideous avocado pedicure as que horreur?
3. Was the old lady asking for help to get back to Nueva Ecija by augmenting her fare truly was a fairy that placed a curse on anyone who shunned her with excruciating fever?
4. Was the paracetamol that I took massed-produced in China, in which my pirated medication only inhibits a small about of prostaglandin, thus taking half the time of easing my pain while doubling the mechanisms of toxicity in my liver?
In my alternate universe, I would have gladly made a trade off with the causative agents of this fever. I will go into an argumentative debate with whatever bacteria - British Parliamentary Format, plead to whoever INFECTION Prime Minister with repartees so witty I will cause the germs to drool in boredom or lysis - whichever comes first.
But since reality is as absolute as it is cruel, there is no chance of such a thing ever happening.
My head continues to throb. If only I can sweep the heat away in diuretic tears. But then crying would be much of an effort, and at this state, tiring.
I can't wait to be back to my mean and hurtful sturdy self.
Sick.Sadistic.Shallow. Deconstructing the World before bedtime.Labels: rantings, sick |
posted by LetsGetSoakingWet @ 1:14 PM  |
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Name: LetsGetSoakingWet
