Just when I thought I can post on a daily basis, I fail myself. Then again, that seems to be part of a routine, and with that, I have no counter-arguments.
I received the bulk of my final exams this week and as it turned out, I wasn’t that far off in my computation. I am just bracing myself for the worst and to be frank, the worst is yet to come. If only I didn’t have so much in my mind.
I came across a quote by the late great Leo Buscaglia and it read: Death is a challenge; it tells us not to waste time. What a challenge indeed. We spend every waking moment, getting from one minute to another, but has any of you stopped to think if that minute was well spent?
Dylan and I had another one of those epic arguments that you can never talk your way out of. As of the moment, it’s been about 18 hours since we last spoke. I’ve been calling him — I believe I called four times already — but he’s not picking up. I assume he’s still sleeping from his 16 hour shift last night. But you see, that’s 18 hours of being mad for something that was said out of anger. That’s 18 hours spent. That’s 18 hours. For cancer patient, that makes all the difference from being well to dying. And yet what did we do? We just waited. For 18 hours. And counting.
I can’t help but feel too weak to accept that challenge. Sometimes, it crosses my mind to just succumb to it. After all, I am tired. Like, mentally tired. Emotionally. Physically. Psychologically. Like every aspect of my being has already been pulled in all directions and there’s nothing left in it to motivate me to be intact. Like today. I’m supposed to be studying today. Out of all the members in class, God knows I’m the one who needs the most help. What did I do today? Ran in the morning, walked to the post office, and cried the rest of the day. I don’t even know why I’m crying, if it’s still about Dylan or just about me. And that is not time well-spent.
Then there are friends that make rookie mistakes, like yelling at a training officer who judges the class on a daily basis. There’s also the fact that the department head overheard it. There’s also the fact that he didn’t even attempt to hide his loathing disdain for me and M for inviting him to play. Not our fault if he cannot be discreet, not our fault if we are, but hey. There’s also the fact that some people just refuse to grow up. Such a rookie mistake. I highly doubt the recovery of such a uncharacteristic demeanor. Even my superb relationship management skills won’t be enough to salvage that one. I anticipate my homecoming just so I can confirm what I already know — that, after a mere 12 hours or so, what he said and how he acted are already the talks of head office.
It’s like wildfire. No matter how impeccably beautiful the forest is, a dried up twig and a spark of light can immediately tear it down. No matter how glorious the performance was, you’re only as good as your last words of exchange. And I try to recall if I told Dylan the right last words he wants to hear from me. A part of me thinks I have, but a part of me also knows he never said anything back.
Time… the one thing that can’t repair itself (excluding teeth of course). I dial his number the fifth time today and see if he’ll be awake enough to take it.
I hate always having to feel depressed at a time when my intellectual prowess (if I have some) is challenged. I hate always having to manage something else at a time when I should be managing myself. I hate always having to gather my everything to get through one exam to another, with the previous one leaving me too drained to continue.
Of course, naturally, he doesn’t pick up.
I cried a lot today, and maybe that’s why I’m tired. Or maybe that’s why I can still think. I needed the release. But nonetheless, it wasn’t what Buscaglia wanted us to do. Death seems to be winning today. I wonder if tomorrow would be good enough to change that.