Cold-Blooded
The announcement came from my friend, who was lonely and under all kinds of stress from school, who came over last night: "It's 10.9 degrees Celsius today." He came over with a bottle of wine. He was wearing, in all sensibility, a scarf, and in all insensibility, a pair of shorts. We finished the bottle of wine, and then another one, and went to bed shortly after he left.
Today I woke up with the depression only binge-drinking can give, and had coffee while looking at my social media and files I can do for the day. I showered, bemoaning the fact that ours never seem to get quite the right temperature, and ended up having a cold one. I selected several files for the day, one of which was of a man and a woman talking about their lives and how it went downhill after a court case, ending with a plaintive, yet sad and final "Bye" from both ends.
The file gave me an unpleasant taste in my mouth, so I then set about to cook for my nephew, his guest, myself, and Tim. I made rice with scrambled eggs, and several pork chops. They were cold by the time we sat on the table. I went back to doing files in the afternoon, finishing with a preacher delivering a sermon about the Christmas story and how this magical event of a savior coming to the world was as magical as the first radio transmission that happened in the 20th century. The file didn't have the right taste, either, and I was still depressed, so I went out of the house, into the sun, to buy some junk food to eat while reading. The walk was my most minor form of exercise, one which I do when I have no will to do a major workout in the kitchen. It was filled with smoke from passing jeepneys, and with people going on about their day.
During noon I received a message from my sister saying she lost her phone, and got it back due to sheer warm goodness of God. I told her people are good, too, and that I hug her, and she replied with, "I need it." I'd have gone to San Fernando where it was warmer had it not been for resources I don't quite have at the moment. I went back to reading.
I'm already nearing the end of the book, and the day is marching onward, when I decided to give the sun another shot. I went outside to smoke, feeling like a cold-blooded reptile needing warmth in order to metabolize. I was contemplating the lives of marine iguanas and Charles Darwin coming across them basking under the Galapagos sun, staring at the discarded ambulance and trucks left to rot on my backyard, when I realized how truly cold-blooded depression can make you. It leaves you with no will to do anything on a day relentlessly parading before you and seemingly without you while you watch others' lives happen, ending with you still on the bed, wondering how cold it will be tomorrow.
I remember Tim talking to me about iguanas freezing in Florida and falling off of trees, and it made me want to write under the sun. I took out my laptop, plopped it into a chair, plopped myself on a pillow, and started to write, feeling the warmth of the day metabolizing into thoughts, and remembering that I have warm jackets in the house if it gets too cold. It will; Baguio is famous for it.
Today I woke up with the depression only binge-drinking can give, and had coffee while looking at my social media and files I can do for the day. I showered, bemoaning the fact that ours never seem to get quite the right temperature, and ended up having a cold one. I selected several files for the day, one of which was of a man and a woman talking about their lives and how it went downhill after a court case, ending with a plaintive, yet sad and final "Bye" from both ends.
The file gave me an unpleasant taste in my mouth, so I then set about to cook for my nephew, his guest, myself, and Tim. I made rice with scrambled eggs, and several pork chops. They were cold by the time we sat on the table. I went back to doing files in the afternoon, finishing with a preacher delivering a sermon about the Christmas story and how this magical event of a savior coming to the world was as magical as the first radio transmission that happened in the 20th century. The file didn't have the right taste, either, and I was still depressed, so I went out of the house, into the sun, to buy some junk food to eat while reading. The walk was my most minor form of exercise, one which I do when I have no will to do a major workout in the kitchen. It was filled with smoke from passing jeepneys, and with people going on about their day.
During noon I received a message from my sister saying she lost her phone, and got it back due to sheer warm goodness of God. I told her people are good, too, and that I hug her, and she replied with, "I need it." I'd have gone to San Fernando where it was warmer had it not been for resources I don't quite have at the moment. I went back to reading.
I'm already nearing the end of the book, and the day is marching onward, when I decided to give the sun another shot. I went outside to smoke, feeling like a cold-blooded reptile needing warmth in order to metabolize. I was contemplating the lives of marine iguanas and Charles Darwin coming across them basking under the Galapagos sun, staring at the discarded ambulance and trucks left to rot on my backyard, when I realized how truly cold-blooded depression can make you. It leaves you with no will to do anything on a day relentlessly parading before you and seemingly without you while you watch others' lives happen, ending with you still on the bed, wondering how cold it will be tomorrow.
I remember Tim talking to me about iguanas freezing in Florida and falling off of trees, and it made me want to write under the sun. I took out my laptop, plopped it into a chair, plopped myself on a pillow, and started to write, feeling the warmth of the day metabolizing into thoughts, and remembering that I have warm jackets in the house if it gets too cold. It will; Baguio is famous for it.
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