Let P!nk be pink; she’s my favorite pink in the world

13 May 2013

Why did You make me this way Lord? Why did You make me bend as easily to stress? I am wishing that what I am seeing is naught but a dream and reality is something else. Give me a miracle; let my reality become a dream that I would simply laugh at when I wake up.

Though I am starting to feel so disturbed I am actually contemplating that I might be getting crazy, I have gone to the precinct. I have gone to a precinct twice now, not only to a precinct but to three precincts all at once. I voted fast–shading ovals beside surnames that have the best recall.

Anomalies were existent. First was a child, distributing meters away from the elementary school premises flyers. In the school’s entrance, an old man was distributing flyers for another councilor candidate. The worst was that someone was distributing LP sample ballots as we were on line before the classroom turned polling precinct. What I hated most was that I kept on voting for those candidates regardless of how unlawful the actions of their minions were.

Distracting myself from the thought of work has become a chore. Living became a chore as well too.

Let my thoughts be healthy; a lush garden will emerge. I will run with careless abandon through its flowers and the beetles would rub their wings in delight. In my garden, the sun will shine with life. Vibrancy is consistent. Color is everywhere and virtues are nymphs peeping through the eaves of overlapping leaves. The crispness of my laughter rivals the blue mirth of the cloudless sky. Visit me in my dreams; I may still have them. Will you sing me to sleep as I hum to my Shiela?

My solace is none that’s mine just as everything is. My ‘beautiful’ mind–not infallible; my efforts not directly translated to productivity. Duress squeezed me empty–daily exposing me lacking and wrong; thus it was my cell where I am both gaoler and prisoner in a pit of darkness. 

Ropes do exist. It’s a good thing they do and that they’re for free in my case. I have my family. Praise be to the Lord for letting me call those people mine even without owning them like robots.

The world is still not a perfect place. The dissonance that there is within me, in what I aspire, in what I actually deliver, in what I think, act and feel. A punch from Sheldon, I can’t always call on them to resort to Rock, Paper, Scissors, Lizard, Spock whenever I have to decide.

I’ve tried to memorize a song, and we don’t know how | how we got into this mad situation | only doing things out of frustration | trying to make it work but man these times are hard. I will break free of this fusion of ennui and repressive passivity. I am tired of denying myself. Let me have life once more. Smile on me my Lord and fill me with hope. If You want me to drown in the depths of despair, let me die instead. What do You want me to live for?