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read between the lines
bad day, good night i got up today feeling like crap. i was physically unwell, yet i was still forced to come to work because of some stupid handover meeting whereby i go through what work i'll be delegating when i go on leave next week. my ass hurt from crapping so much, after my stomach stopped hurting. and that just magnified every little irk.my boss waited with me on the lift up, and she made me confess i had stayed at a friend's the night before, because i can't lie to save my life and my facial expression betrayed me when she grilled me on where i was last night (we were both late to work by the way). crap. and then i get to work, and after spending an hour and a half in the loo, i come out and get my drinks and walk towards my desk...only to see the ex-friend friend walking in the opposite direction, heading towards me (incidentally, he used to sit where i was sitting). since i'm still working out the ex-friend friend definition, i don't know what to do so i look up, down but finally up again to see his reaction as he gets nearer and nearer. he gave a reluctant smile that looked like a smirk. he then proceeded to chatter with the girl sitting opposite me to my right, while i took out my papers and started up my computer nervously. he was bouncing around all over the place out of the corner of my eye when i was conducting the handover session. it was like he was saying "i dare you to cling to me, i dare you, na na na na na..." it was like torture, dude; you really tortured me. still, i couldn't help but feel tickled that your mood really perked up after i established that you want no part in my life. (but again, i don't get what the definition of an ex-friend friend is so that's one big mystery that'll have to be unravelled with time.) i end up in the loo for another round after the handover session, so i try asking my boss online if i can take leave for the remaining half of the day and she gets all amnesiac and asks me to insert a reason in my online leave application. like duh, that's what i did the last time i applied for leave when i wasn't feeling well and didn't want to see the doctor because i just wanted to get home and sleep it off! i get back to my rented crib, find that one of my clothes has been hung for me even though i am positive i left it crumpled the entire week to remind myself that it should be washed and have maid deny doing anything and have the landlady say in a rather threatening way that "if the maid says she didn't touch it, nobody touched it, we don't touch your things." i'm irritated like anything but not dumb enough to argue about it. i shut the door and K.O. on my stomach (a sleeping position i only assume if (a) i feel insecure or (b) i need to block out the sunlight streaming through my window). only when i wake up does my ass finally stop hurting, but groan, another mandatory session is at stake -- the last-minute worship practice session i was only informed of yesterday that i could not wiggle my way out of even though i tried asking. so i take a cab all the way to wdl only to have the guard remind me that practice is at bpj because no one's here...so i cab again to bpj. more money wasted. i get another sympathetic dad-ish cabbie this time, similar to last week's when i was really depressed after being forced to turn back at customs because i forgot my fricking passport. he had the same observation ("you look tired") and the same farewell wish ("don't be sad"). and then i square my shoulders, get dinner and get to practising. god is merciful and he knows that music heals my soul and makes the body forget it's sick so i get into the music, into god maybe and out of sickness for the whole time i'm practising. after that my peak dips and then it's time to kill time while the next group practises. just before i leave, a fellow cell groupie indirectly chastises me for not wanting to go to his house tomorrow for cell group and a group run. like hello, i said i was taking the weekend to go back home (and anyway i don't want to mention i'm unwell unless i'm forced to!). it is only after i've settled down at home and watched a whole buncha ian is bored and smosh that i finally start to feel better -- physically and mentally. and both parts of me are doing just fine now though i should be sleeping. seriously, thank god for anthony padilla and ian hecox...i've been discovering and rediscovering their videos this past two weeks and it's been really helping me get through the nights (and subsequent days). you guys are so hilarious i keep repeating bits of your rap songs in the spare moments of my life (in the shower, in the loo, in the lift, in the taxi) and having a good laugh right after each repeat. and an indirect thanks to my real life bro whose computer and phone kept shouting "SHUT UP" whenever i walked past, back when both of us were still living with our parents.
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