Either way, I'll still die of total humiliation.
I know I'm going to rot in hell as soon as that time when I would forget to exhale that carbon dioxide arrives. But who the hell cares anyway? Oh God diggidy, I'm still sooo not scared to die. Sorry. Amen.
Last night is definitely and ultimately the night I've been waiting for all these stressful weeks. Right after I decided to ditch my GIFT class and just clean the balot-and-gawgaw-drenched room,(don't thank me. thank the Socio-Cultural Committee members who also decided to ditch an important thing in their womanhood per se - they boycotted the aftermath of the deadly celebration, which is c-l-e-a-n-i-n-g up the messes they left. Well, I dunno. It's okay for me, I guess. Then again, no. Then again, yes. But then again, I still have a disgusting story to tell..soo..) I decisively went with Monica to the principal's office to return their classroom key to that nostalgic cabinet.
And yeah. That's the only unusual place I went to yesterday afternoon.
Who the hell even knew that the principal's office can screw things up in a very discrete manner? I guess the MEGA people does, but they're just so damn focused on their cleaning business that they probably forgot to remind the students that the parlor/principal's office is, indeed, infested with dwarfs and other imaginary creatures. WTF. They should write that as one of the MAIN reasons why students and/or big people should not hang around that place, so as to not bump some dwarfs that are actually having an important meeting there.
I beg to differ. Really.
So, what happened? Well, as I stood up from bed early this morning, the first thing that throughly entered my mind was..:"Why am I having this slight feeling that the right side of my face is being pulled down by a strong gravitational force? And ugh, did the right side just got fatter again? Fuck that Coke."
And, as I went to the mirrored-cabinet to check if I still have my head on, what I saw just made me gape so hard, I forgot what gaping is for a mere second.
THE. RIGHT. SIDE. OF. MY. FACE. IS. SWELLING. AND. LOOKS. LIKE. AS. IF. IT'S. GOING. TO. BURST. SOONER. OR. LATER.
I tried slapping it, but it just made my cheeks unnaturally red. I tried pushing it in the left direction, but it just mushed up my already distorted face. I tried crying, but it just made me look like an asshole for doing so. What a wimp.
You know bloggy, I would've accepted that cruel fate if it weren't for the fact that THE RIGHT SIDE WAS THE ONLY SIDE THAT IS SWELLING. If both sides were indeed swelling, I would've been so happy because (1) I wouldn't look like some poor Mexican boxer who was intensely punched by Pacquiao in one of his very disappointing games and; (2) My face wouldn't look oh-so distorted, as if making the people believe to a very malevolent fact that my father is Picasso, and my mom's one of his abstract imaginations. What a grieving wonder.
I now look even more stupid with half of my face swollen to the highest level that it can be for the 'obese' category.
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I've never listened intently to someone speaking about stress management. It's one of those things that I absolutely despise because, like epic poetry and mathematical shiznits, they have these sort-of clichés and conventions that just reminds you how much of a trend-followers they truly are. Conformity, remember? Cringe, boy. Cringe.
But ugh. The intransigence of my hypocrisy just stands out at such times that I don't actually need 'em. Like lately, during homeroom time. When our adviser started her stuff with the phrases.."talk about stress management", my attention switch just automatically turned itself off. Dang it, God. Why not try giving me some melatonin instead of this autistical switch anyway?
I hate the word STRESS. No, really. I really really really do. What I even more loathe is its meaning, which is...
STRESS - The sum of the biological reactions to any adverse stimulus, physical, mental or emotional, internal or external, that tends to disturb a person's normal state of well-being. (Gulflink)
Why do I abhor it? Well obviously, I AM SO STRESSED WITH LIFE PER SE! Studies show that a large percentage of stressed individuals has this annoying tendency to share their loathsome lives to the virtual community using blogs. And UGH, I am so guilty of this, so to speak.
I only learned a while ago that my state of being stressed has gone so bad, I didn't even know that I was THAT stressed already. I kept denying to myself, and to everyone else around me, that I am SO NOT stressed. For me, being stressed is like being on drugs. I know, I know..I mentioned it quite during my oh-so tragic summer time that drugs is one of those things I shall try before my migration to hell. But stress is somehow quite different. When people would find out that you died of such, they would think that you're this irresponsible shit hole, who lived his/her life during the wee hours of the morning, hastily typing reports and trying to meet deadlines of some sorts.
But when you die of drug overdose, people would on the other hand think you're some kind of a rock god/diva/homeless person who lived his/her life on cloud 9.
I think I like the latter better.
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I love you, Bloggy. You really are one hell of a Stress Tab. <3
I have 30 minutes left to annoy people before my spit-amount melatonin kicks in. But whatever. I'll just spend it on a staring marathon. I guess killing out some of your unused brain cells is a good way to manage stress or something.
Off I go.
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