i woke up in the morning (technically, yesterday morning) and found myself a bit too wide awake for comfort. and for the next few moments i just laid and stared, trying to recall who i was and where i was. it isn't usually like this. got out of bed, changed, forced a bit of food down, and went to the wrong classroom for the wrong class. then ran to the right class. french literature. l'Étranger. and i began to feel nauseous as we discussed Meursault's indifference to emotion. l'étranger.

at the back of my head it worried me tt i wasn't the least worried bout the things i know i should be more concerned with. but i couldn't bring myself to do it. to get concerned, i mean. stoic.

sometime in the afternoon, i remembered our conversation the night before. the only thing i remembered quite clearly, was thinking how cleverly-phrased some of your words were; almost like an angry poem. and i was filled with admiration.

i used to like taking random bus rides just to see where they'd take me. i'd have a jacket for warmth, a water bottle to keep me alive, a notepad and pen for notes to myself, handphone for security, ventolin inhaler for security, tissue for security, my wallet for security in a scrappy bag for- comfort. i won't pretend tt such attempts at reckless abandon didn't make me nervous. just to be safe, i'd note the bus's final destination first though this seldom affected my decision to take it.

more than a year ago, i took my memories- for reference- and got on a ride. i've got nothing to lose anyway, i thought. i disliked the bumpy parts but my rationale was tt if there weren't any bumpy parts, then how would we notice tt the rest of the road was in fact smooth? i didn't know where we were going but i was too busy enjoying the ride. hedonistic.

i hated tt you made me choose. did you know tt i'm a sore loser? yeah, a closet one. i hated tt you mocked me. it made me feel, for the first time in my life, contempt against you. but maybe it's for the better, considering my tendency to associate myself with such emotional travails. for doesn't all we do come down to self-gratification?

:: Falling From Grace - gentle waves