Trying to get back on track after an accident (if that’s what you call it) three years ago, another accident (or it might be called something else this time) happens. As the elderly turtle master would say, “There are no accidents.” Three years ago, on the way home to face humiliation, I overheard a couple of gays talking over a book that says the same, and the Almighty Being put it there for a reason. Everything for a reason. EVERYTHING.
Back to the here and now. As I sulk and drown myself with work overload and sweet junks, locking myself up in the office so as not to hear the bell ring when a meeting is called, I come to the conclusion that I am not myself anymore.
It’s been a long time since I had a coffee break. Unlike morning coffees, which I take to shake the chill from the night before, coffee breaks refresh the mind, the air, your mood and your playlist.
Flashback. I loved coffee. I had morning, noon, afternoon, evening and midnight coffee. I had mugs, not cups. I loved coffee when it rains. Reminds me of a TV ad. Senti but refreshing. Gets you thinking. Gets you thanking.
Coffee on a Monday morning is one of the simple pleasures I am enjoying today. Amidst a heavy heart, fake smiles, and pessimistic air, I go about like it was Monday everyday. Friday last week I sent an SMS to a friend saying that it’s the first time in history that I wished it were Monday. I hated Mondays. The hangover from bumming around on weekends. The need to wake up for a 7:30 AM class. Times have changed. Monday means work. Work means all I have to think about is work. Work has become my home. A refuge. A distraction to reality. A diversion of thoughts.
I don’t have a lot of friends. If a friend is one whom one knows well and cherishes, as defined by the Webster’s Pocket Dictionary, then I don’t have much. People come and go. But some leave taking with them a part of you. It may be that you have given it away intentionally or not. Either way, they mark you. Persons who have made a mark in my life in one way or another are those whom I know well and cherish. These are the diamonds that make my life rich.
With these diamonds, I am at home. It is with them that I am myself. No apprehensions, no reservations. Without them, I would become homeless. If I lose one, it’s like losing a part of my sanctuary. It doesn’t just break my heart to lose a home, it makes me fall apart. Its effects can be unthinkable. And I refuse to think about it. Denial, if you may call it.
And so I resort to sulking, overindulging myself with sweets to boost the happy hormones in me, and, yes, you’ve guessed it, overworking.
