The worst way

When I've lived out a whole morning, afternoon and evening, sitting down at 11:00 pm to write a blog is not really on my agenda. I don't want it to be, anyway. I curse the rotten day that I decided to write an entry every day. I can't even remember when that day was, it seemed to have just happened naturally.

Sometimes I'm at a loss of what to write entirely. As if nothing played any significant role in 24 hours. And it's highly possible that's the case. That perhaps because life can be so boring I'm at such a loss that I'd rather just go to bed than share what's on my mind.

Today is the opposite. Entirely the opposite.

Because I essentially did nothing, and it only makes me want to write all the more. The thing is, I almost forgot. Which would've been the worst thing I've done in quite a while.

When I woke up just now, it was after a day of mostly sleep. Every few hours I've taken periodic naps, not because I'm actually lethargic or tired, but because the alternative would be doing nothing and bearing it while conscious.

On Thursday I ended my internship with some sort of infection/allergy/congestion-type ailment which forced me to drive home on the freeway with a tissue in one hand while my throat croaked out the lyrics to Broadway showtunes on Sirius Satellite Radio. It would've been a pitiful sight to see, but probably quite a funny one too. For me it wasn't funny at the time, but sometimes entertaining myself isn't the primary concern.

Coming home a day earlier than expected - I was supposed to work until Friday - would ordinarily be a blessing. That is, if it was because I'd done something commendable like working an extra day and thus got the Friday off. But no, I missed work on my final day because I'd been graced by the body ache and balloon head fairy. And by balloon-head, I mean my nose and ears were so stuffed up that it felt as if my cranium had been pumped with helium. That is not a condition under which you drive for two hours.

Still, I powered through thinking things couldn't exactly get worse than what they were. At least I'd managed to arrive home safely on Thursday and didn't get into any accidents. It's better to be an optimist in these situations, otherwise you dwell for hours on how you could've done differently.

Then Saturday rolls around and I'm finally feeling well enough to leave the house at the very least. I spend my afternoon trying to contact friends and making plans to go over another friend's house to hang out, catch up and watch a movie.

Since I have no schedule for the rest of the day, I hang around at home as I mentioned before, napping and just relaxing, thinking my evening will be something more interesting. In the evening, I shower before whipping up my own dinner and heading off to the friend's house.

Then I see a little silver spot in my vision. For most people this would indicate having looked into a bright light for too long or something. For me, this is worse. This is a migraine. And I've officially signed my own conviction, sentenced to house arrest for the rest of the night.

I send a message to my friend whose house I'd volunteered for the night to a bunch of my other friends. And instead of dealing with things any more, I just sleep. That's all I can think to do anymore. Sleep.

But it really really stinks. All of this stinks. It reminds me of the week that I left my dorm in June, walking away from the bedroom I've had at school for the past two years for the very last time. But instead of saying the proper goodbye, I departed with my entire body aching and a sore throat that wouldn't quit. I didn't know until a few hours later that I'd somehow contracted strep. But it ruined everything about my final couple of days at school for the year. I didn't even get to hug my friends when we said goodbye.

It makes me wonder sometimes if these reactions are psychosomatic. Like saying goodbye makes me sick so that I don't have to deal with the pressure of leaving. Or like making plans after a long day of doing nothing confuses and stresses my body out, making my unconscious mind force an illness on me to keep me bedridden for the rest of the day.

No matter what the cause, I just feel incredibly bummed out. Mentally and physically. The former because I'm absolutely saddened by the fact that a group of my friends got together tonight and I didn't get to see them, and the fact that I didn't get to experience my last days of work as I should have, and the fact that I walked away from my dorm a few months ago without saying the goodbye I'd like to have. The latter because I've literally been bumming it out for three days. I need to get out of my room, otherwise I think it might stifle me to death.

So that's where I'm at. And it's my reasoning for this blog actually being heaven sent on a day when nothing actually happened. It makes sense, I guess, that when I'm busy I would feel tied down to this thing - my ball and chain if you will - but when I'm free as a bird I take pleasure in getting to blabber on for paragraphs upon paragraphs in the evening.

At least it means I'm doing something worthwhile. The worst way to end the day is thinking you've done absolutely nothing - and if not for writing this, I might've felt that way. But I don't.