I have been mostly restricted to fiction this week. If you haven’t notice, I’ve been posting nothing but fiction in the last three days. What can I say, I don’t feel like write anything when I feel like crap and yes, I still do but I seem to be just a tiny bit better this morning after mom pushed open my door at 7 am this morning and woke me in a panic for no reason at all except telling me to get to work. She’s gone for the day though, finally, taking a language exam 50 miles away.
I’m so looking forward to this weekend. She will be gone for training and I’ll have the house to myself for the weekend.
Back to feeling like crap, I think I’m having some health issues. That won’t be the first. I don’t want to see a doctor either. All the doctors I’ve been to offer no sympathy whatsoever. I know it’s not your job but still, I came to you. I’m in pain. You can’t just tell me it’s psychological and there’s nothing wrong with me. Can’t you at least do some digging?
Okay, here’s my problem. In the last two days, my head’s been hurting and my chest’s been periodically throbbing. I don’t want to think about it since there’s a chance the pain is “psychological” but at the same time, it feels like it’s getting worse. I want so much to complain but I already know what my mom’s going to say. She’ll either place a large bottle of 600 mg Ibuprofen before me or we’ll bicker.
I couldn’t take it any longer so the other night, I mentioned my discomfort while preparing dinner the other night and we’d just ended up bickering. “It’s all your fault for not drying your hair before heading to bed.” Mom said.
I was, as always, in no mood to bicker and I never went to bed with my hair wet. I always wait until it’s dried before sleeping. “I don’t do that,” I defended.
“If you do that for too many times, it’s bound to happen.” Why do I even make the effort? It’s like talking to a stone.
“Haven’t you been listening to me? I. Don’t. Do. That.” I said through my clenched teeth. There’s no point, my inner voice told me. You’re a minute too late, I snapped.
“I’ve watched you, I’ve seen you do it.” Yeah, like a few months or a few years ago. I didn’t answer. I regret to even brought it up. Forget it.
Aside from that little bicker, so many things had happened this week like I’ve found out a literary magazine HQ in Atlanta is looking for submissions. I have a story for the December issue but I’m afraid it might be too bleak. Should I go for it? I don’t want people to read the story around Christmas and burst in tears. I probably should send another one, huh, one that would cheer people, not make them cry.
I’m going out to work today. This will be the second time this week. I went on Monday and it turned out I couldn’t do much. My boss broke his pinkie last week tripping on a broken sprinkler and now he only has a working right hand while his left hand is wrapped elbow-deep in bandages. I hope he’s there because I went yesterday and he wasn’t there. So I ended up having to have to walk back home but I took my sweet time with the walk.
I’ve always enjoyed black and white photography. I just never thought it fit in with the pictures I took but I just have to try it. What do you think?
This is Another Story 