55: 1.10 am
It is definitely a little strange to be typing up blog posts from my phone and not my trusty laptop. However I felt the urge to post now because I was afraid I’d let go of my balloons like I usually do throughout the night when I’m sleeping.
Hungry, too awake for my own good and a little worried. The word ghrelin pops up. I have heard of it before and read its definition yet somehow I am not able to recall it at this point in time.
It is at times like these when my stomach goes rumble in the night that I know I’m not sick anymore. Sometimes I remember what it was like to be so severely sick, and then I feel the rush of gratitude that accompanies, what, I don’t know, accompanies my feels…
I feel awful though. Waves of darkness crashing over me, head slightly pounding with forced normalcy (it must be the effects of the headache tablet), a sense of dread creeping along the bare skin of my arms, my feet tingling with unwelcoming warmth. A myriad of songs overlap each other and play themselves in my head. A dull circle of pain thuds intermittently in the side of my neck. My elbow aches with the continuous need to support my whole body as I lay upright. I feel awful.
Why do I feel so awful when it is already the holidays?
Perhaps it is because now I have what appears to be unlimited time, unlimited freedom to do as I please in my realm of creativity, academia and personal pleasure. Perhaps it is because I refuse to be tricked by such illusions. Only 48 days, and 48 days will go by so quickly. It will be but a blurred memory, a short journey leading up to the stairway to hell.
Oh sweet, enjoy these 48 days. Appreciate the beauty of nature. Sing with the birds in the morning as the glory of the sunlight filters in through your parted curtains. Laugh at every joke, every piece of banter, no matter how insignificant or careless. Write poetry in your notebook even though you have never written a quality poem before. Draw a memory you will treasure for a lifetime.
48 days. There are so many things to do, so many little stories to write, so many photos to take, so many friends to talk to, so many memories to reminisce about, (prescient) so many hours to sleep, so many weeks to enjoy, and yet, so little time.
Just 48 days.
Could we have a little more, please?
P.S. I put prescient there for no reason. It just popped up in my head. I felt the need to put it there otherwise I’d forget the word, just like how I let go (too easily) of my precious balloons.