THOSE DAYS

There are good days, and then there are bad days. I've been having a bad day for the past three weeks.

I can't even begin to tell. I've lost count of the mishaps, I've lost track of the days and what happened in those days, what went wrong first, what went wrong next. They're all the same and can all be summed up in one word: hell.

This has been a tragic semester. I've cried over final papers, cursed silently at groupmates who JUST DON'T GET A CLUE, began to really hate someone who is so utterly insensitive, selfish and inconsiderate (I'm trying to figure out a way to avoid that person for the rest of my life). I've stayed at other people's houses for days straight, spent nights and middle-of-the-nights in the computer room of my school. Naturally, I also had to endure countless lectures on my being a babaeng kalye and kaladkarin from Kamag-anak Incorporated.

I've called my ex, for crying out loud, just so I could understand stupid, stupid STUPID regression. I've called other people's boyfiends, too. At this very moment Shiva's boyfriend, whom I've met only once and know as Leonard, Shiva's boyfriend (I know other stuff, too, but, well.), is at the City Planning and Development Office in Baguio City, getting data on vehicles, traffic, barangay population and the Athletic Bowl for me, for my final project which he knows nothing about. I'm freaking out and extremely calm at the same time because on one hand, nakakahiya talaga to ask someone who's miles and miles away to practically do your research for you because your groupmate wasn't able to do it, but on the other hand I know he's really, really nice and wouldn't mind doing it.

I've used up all my phone minutes calling everyone I know (and only slightly know). I've shunned my friends whose only crime is to find out if I'm still breathing, and snapped at my relatives because they were their usual insane selves, and for once I couldn't stand it.

In short, I let the crap of life get the best of me. And all for what? A bunch of unos I probably won't get? My becoming "very good at what I do?" Damn, I don't know that. I just wanna get through this.

So here I am now, listening to the Beatles' A Hard Day's Night (ek, how fitting). Ahh, thank the Beatles, Pablo Neruda and his poems read by beautiful voices on the Il Postino ST, Jason Mraz, Westlife and their attempts at Frank-hood, Michael Buble, No Doubt, Red Hot Chili Peppers and all the other musical artists who kept me awake in those nights of disquiet when I hated the world as I wrote my research proposal and dreamt of pushing my professor off the cliff.