I have denied myself the luxury of screaming amidst the din of netizens who scream to be heard all at the same time; so it's either I shut up or scream along -- in a few hours or two days this blog post won't matter anyway (and not many of you read my blog anyway).
The greater part of this month was spent giving normalcy a go.
I hired myself a distraction from things that spell alone.
Movie houses, sea side restaurants and dreamy star-littered skies for dates.
More importantly, they were proper scheduled dates, and I can safely declare I've experienced that kind.
Home improvement projects (though not too much -- I only rent that shoebox of a room, which means I'm not staying there forever)
Interviewing applicants with feigned enthusiasm but enthusiasm nonetheless.
Getting drunk with officemates and dancing to togsh-togsh-togsh music.
Enjoying applause from acquaintances for this normalcy -- or at least to safely say, as I'm sure the "What's-normal-anyway?" question will pop in your heads, applause for these commonly accepted behaviors.
After all these, my emotions refuse the compromise. Forced normal routine consequently has made my writing ability retreat somewhere far -- along with my cat who no longer comes home for dinner perhaps out of jealousy as I promised him it would only be me and him against everything else at the end of the day. Revelations included in this portion will, for certain, elicit a shaking of heads and wagging of fingers, since their encyclopedia of illnesses says that being sad over a usual work day, or not becoming ecstatically happy over bubble gum events requires one to visit a shrink.
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