To Err Is Human

Last weekend, I slammed myself to a glass door. I cannot quantify how much impact, just vulgar enough to purport the people at the gym to stop whatever it is they're doing. Don't ask me how many empathic stares were bestowed upon my nonchalance-feigning face. I don't know and I don't have any plans of polling it. But If I have to conduct a demography, I might as well count the number of cute gays, errrr, hunks lolling around instead.

To count or not to count is one thing. Something is seriously bothering me. After more than an hour since the mishap, I noticed the stain that my shiny forehead has left imprinted on the crystal clear glass door is still very much well-preserved. *squinch*

Beauty Comes at a Price and So Is My Health

I am going for my annual medical checkup in a few hours to be submitted to our personnel department for filing.

Three issues:
1. I hate stripping stark naked in front of a complete stranger to have my breast stroked and my butt examined. I hate lying on some unfamiliar bed moreso.
2. I hate watching the medical practitioner slowly inject the syringe onto my vein as though nobody is getting hurt here while I attempt to compose myself from cringeing over the blood-sucking torture.
3. I am constipated. How the hell can I squirt out a stool sample just now? I have to consume some kiwi or fibre-filled edibles. hah!

If I were to have the ability to invent a machine or something like that, I'd probably come up with a detecting machine where blood is not the sample used but instead saliva. That way, people especially the kids don't have to go through that painful procedure to have needles injected onto their fluffy skin. They just have to spit. And I am not going to worry over needles and emotional torture for I can spit one full cup anytime they ask me to.

For constipated people, I might as well come up with a stool-sucking machine. People just sit and have their sample sucked out like a vacuum cleaner. Won't this world be a better place if nobody will ever have to sit inside the toilet bowl the entire day tight-fisted and head almost exploding?

Once Bitten, Never Shy

Information is to be taken in awe the first time it is received. Subsequent transmission of the same stuff can cause abhorrence moreso if conveyed more than twice or thrice. My best friend is dramatizing over her bout of yet another love issue - Same chauvinist boy problem, different face (I honestly lost count). This has been, what, a recurring issue for the past 8 years eversince she learned how to fall in love. Nobody must have taught her that overusing of skills is not good too. I am raising my white flag. I concede. I give up. I'd rather have an empty list of friends than deal with masochistic friends like her who make creating an emotional bin out of me a habit.

I used to have loads of sympathy for her. Recently, my eardrums have sadly and unconsciously grown an auto-barring ability over the detection of her voice. Thing is when some things are slathered on your face time and again, you kinda get immune to it already. For some reason, I cannot excrete the same amount of sympathy that I used to shower upon her anymore and I am beginning to see her as some boy who's crying for wolves. Yes, there are wolves in her life. Yet, the wolves are all a result of her own doings. I don't feel any inch of pity for her let alone possess the capacity to console her. Once bitten, twice shy. When will she learn hers despite the many bites she went through?

I am reading the book of my best friend and I am not liking it. If only I can tear up certain pages for her, I'd gladly do it. But I am just a passerby. I can only lurk from afar and flip through the pages of her life. The author, she who plots out the end result, is still her.

Great Things Come In Small Packages

A few years back while I was in the midst of a serious depression, for a period of time, I isolated myself from seeing my friends. I just simply lost the interest of socializing with people. Later on when this one friend of mine learned about my depression and why my hibernation, she invited me along with some other friends to come over at her house inspite of my dejection. I was reluctant to meet up at first. But knowing I can never shun from these people forever, I forced myself up and joined them out of friendly obligation.

Being a daughter of a fairly well-off family, the cook that my friend never was surprisingly mustered whatever skill she could eject to prepare a dinner - pasta and soup - for us. To be honest, the food was edible but not that great. Yet befuddling as it may seem, that dinner is one of the most hearty meal I have ever had in my life. No world-class gourmet could ever top the simple pasta that she came up with. Because beneath that campbell-based pasta is a sincere friend's effort to lift a lost soul up. She may never know this but that simple deed that she could have long forgotten right this very second is carved inside my heart in great depth. And yes, I have long recognized that simple treasures in life cannot be seen but only felt in the heart. I am thankful.

Money Matter

Efforts are always unappreciated. That's why I've long given up my fervor to anything. But my colleague is different from me. She's always thoughtful and passionate and unyielding. Lately, so many people are celebrating birthdays at work. My colleague, who takes the initiative to buy birthday gifts and cards in behalf of the entire team, has to fuss over spending her own money first and go through the trouble of collecting money from each one of us. Some people pay on time but some don't. Some unscrupulous pretend they don't have to pay anything. But thoughtful colleague never gets tired of it. She has her own principles I guess. She thinks being thoughtful is more important than saving money, which is cool. As for me who never had any affinity to colleagues, I never volunteered to pay for the entire team nor buy any birthday gifts. Call me cheapskate. It's always a fuss dealing with them or even asking for their share.

The other day while another colleague went up to sweet gift-buyer colleague to pay her share. The colleague jokingly remarked, why do you never get tired of buying gifts and spending your money in behalf of us? You must have gotten a kickback or something?" And the thoughtful colleague I can see got offended. She murmured to herself, "I am not gaining anything here. In fact, I don't get to collect all the money I spent. kickback?" Her efforts are never appreciated. Now she's even being accused. Her good intentions all went in vain. I wonder whose fault is that?