Odamari!

I had it coming, really. Me, who should never open his mouth. Me, who suffered the most out of the playful teasing. Me, who got hit where it really hurts.

Yes, I was a little bit frustrated that it didn’t go the way it planned. And I denied it too much too. But you didn’t have to hammer it in. Maybe you took amusement in my seemingly predictable act of denial? Maybe. But you should really know, it hit me where it hurts.

But then you wouldn’t stop. You really like teasing me, because what the hell, I really like teasing you to. But you know my sourgrape limit right? You knew it. Yet you went on and on. Until it got me thinking, that all of what you said was true.

I’m jealous. I’m afraid. I’m bitter. She doesn’t love me, yet you still hammer that fact down my heart. Why? I don’t know. Sweet revenge? Maybe. You had your laugh at it. I had mine. Then, when it got foul, I wasn’t laughing anymore.

You really know how to annoy me, do you? Because, more often than not, this semester, whenever we have this types of conversations, I always end up getting annoyed. It’s in the way you talk, the way you act, and the way you try to press a long dead issue.

Then I know the script after this. We’ll talk again. Because we’re such good friends. Then you will point out to me that everything is my fault. “Now you know how I feel when you tease me”. I bet you will say that. I can predict it a mile away.

But if we’re such good friends, at least on my perspective, why do you insist on pressing my buttons?

And the saddest part about all of this, is that you will never say you were sorry.

You never did.

Because everything was my fault.

Everything.

Even when you hit me where it hurts.

27 days.

27 days is all that is left until my inevitable encounter with fate. Will I graduate or not? Will I get to finish my Special Problem in time? No idea. Absolutely no idea.

September 22, after all, is the day my diligence will be measured and my dedication will be judged. On that day, everything will be said about me. It is the deadliest of deadlines for everything Computer Science stood for in my life.

But still, admist the panic that is brewing in my heart, I feel that everything will be all right. That if things go extremely awful, I still have something to back it up. But the least I could do is not to quit. I will never quit.

At least, I must not quit.

Even if it means exchanging my life, my friends, my sanity, for that fucking diploma.

This morning, I awoke in an awkward manner, which put me in a bad mood so early in the morning. I kept hearing odd noises during my REM sleep moments, that it confirmed absolutely the worst thing that I would be hearing in any morning previously.

The noise was coming from a very loud radio from my next door neighbor. It wasn’t really a noise, because somehow I can understand words from it. It was the disc jockey talking, in a tone personally implying that he should retire soon from old age. Then he plays the music. It put me in such an annoyance state because he played songs from HIS generation. Not that I’m complaining about 50s or 60s or even 70s pop music, but those songs he played, made me want to go back in time and shoot the damned artist. It was so, OLD, and UNRETRO (if such a word existed), that even though I love pop rock music from the 60s (The Beatles, Bob Dylan comes to mind), I was so disgusted by this genre of music. I personally think these songs are even older than my parent’s generation. Perhaps it was played in a generation before them? No one knows, really.

Then, as I fight the feeling of irritation through the morning, I felt resigned to my fate — my neighbors, no matter how hot, err, physically attractive some of them are, listens to really really crappy radio station, that plays really really crappy music.

Towards the end of the morning, I fought back by playing my Spitz collection loudly. Serves them right. They might not know Spitz, nor appreciate their music, but I love them.

And I have loud speakers. Ah, the revenge is sweeter.

Weird, isn’t it?

Friday should be the day I anticipate the most. It is the start of a glorious weekend filled with fun, games, movies, gigs and a bottle or two of your favorite booze. Friday should be the epitome of “gimik nights” or simply put, the nights where you get drunk too much for you to remember anything in the morning. Such fun times is usually ignited by the word Friday.

But such fate is not for me. Ever since the start of this semester, Friday is literally filled with stress. From the early 8AM class, to the annoying 1-4PM Laboratory class, then to put a cherry on top of a really crappy day, a boring 4-5:30PM class. No joking. It is that annoying. I loathe Fridays because of this, even though she does not deserve to be loathed. It was my fault after all. Everything is. And everything that is happening to me, is all my fucking fault.

I can only give a helpless sigh. Because today is no different from any Friday since the start of the semester: I have to work late nights because of my summer commitments. Talk about regretting it. But it is my responsibility, and I have to take it like a man. Or in my case, take it like the little ranter cry baby like I am.

Which leaves me now, all alone, in the office, finishing my project for my initial presentation tomorrow at 11am. I may not sleep tonight. I may not even blink an eye. Exaggeration aside, I should be finishing this, no matter how long it will take, even if I’m pressed back against the wall. I’m helpless and alone, but I can always raise my head up and take the responsibility.

I am not afraid of track records, or signs of approval, or anything anymore. I learned my lesson, hopefully, that I am not as skillfull as I think I am. I’m still a student after all.

So before I bore you all with my rants about my desposition, I leave you all with a thought, that sometimes it takes sacrifice to recover what you’ve lost. Meaning, you still have to lose something, to gain things that you are currently losing. Ironic, but true. So my sacrifice is my Friday night.

And my tears. And sweat. And blood.

All for petty sums of cash.

I apologize.

I haven’t been sleeping well, at all, ever since I moved into my new home in Gonzales Compound. Well, even then, I haven’t been sleeping well because of reasons, usually work related ones. It’s nothing to write home about, really, but today I feel multiple burdens cast upon me.

I have to finish a lot of things, and for that reason, I’m writing here. As you know already, I like to procrastinate. Very much. Pretty much everytime. I have no idea why, but I like it. It makes me feel comfortable. It releases stress. Well, I think it does. But sometimes all it does is delay stress. Which is not good, really.

So what do I do? Well, I drink. Around two or three bottles of beer. And get drunk, big time. Then procrastinate again. Ah, life is good. Well, not really. To add insult to injury, these emotional episodes is starting again. Times like this, I really want to get away. But I can’t. I have to graduate. I have to graduate soon, at least.

A restless sigh. That is all I can give. What else can I do? Nothing. Probably sleep on it. It depends. It depends on a lot of things.

But then again. Nothing.