It’s October and boy, oh, boy, am I thrilled that the end of the year is coming in less than three months. Afterwards, I simply need to survive January while rigorously applying for jobs. Come February, and I will finally end my misery, or add another one by being yet another jobless bum. Oh, joy… if everything works out as planned.
That being said, let’s start bitching about the mumbo-jumbo that is September. Let’s just say, I barely had time to breathe. Not to mention the shitty incidents which successfully mummed these blistering, endless questions I have in mind about life and myself.
I’m just kidding. For the latter part, obviously.
If anything, those questions blared even louder. This wrath is becoming even more unhinged than ever that I felt like I’m wearing it like a second skin.
September was crazy busy when it comes to work, what with all the sudden demands and huge events being held too close to each other. As I have previously wished for, it passed like in a blink of an eye. Imagine my surprise that I got into my ninth-month of work, feeling like I was running ahead of time. Quite a reversal from the months before, wasn’t it?
There are crises in which I pulled through unscathed. And there is certainly one where I felt like I have never been luckier to have my best friends looking out for me, and that they are being dead serious about it, too. I didn’t expect what they did for me not because I underestimated their qualities or the value of our friendship, but because I didn’t know how to react when people actually did something nice for me, especially when it comes in form of a physical gift. I remember distinctly that I recoiled from accepting that it happened already, but I also wanted them to know how I was grateful for what they did to me that maybe I sound less sincere than I wanted to be when I thanked them. But, truly, I was happy. I just wasn’t used to it.
And then there was the car accident to close the month. I was fortunate enough not to need any stitches nor suffer any head trauma for it, but I certainly abhorred the experience. The recovery process was painful as much as it disturbed my plans for the new month. I was also left with a noticeable scar that people seem to have more problem with because “girls shouldn’t have any blemish on their faces”; while I was thankful I didn’t need to stitch up my skull.
Funnily enough, I also had this inkling that I probably was being taught a lesson or two about something, as if this is supposed to be life-changing or anything pivotal. The one thing I can come up with is: Wear your frickin’ seatbelts even though you’re in the backseat, girls, especially if you don’t like being the center of attention, like me. People pity you more because it may leave a mark on your face rather than the fact that the emotional and other physical trauma you have to go through and recuperate from.
It would be a lie if I said that it hadn’t occured to me why all this shit happened, thus my mind-buzzing despite the much needed rest. The only answer I can come up with is that maybe that’s just how life goes, one shitty thing over another. I was just starting to think I will get the hang out of my job; that time began to run seemingly faster, and that I have responded more and more nonchalantly and automatically to stuff at work, get things done in a jiffy. But then the universe surprises you with more shitty things, just to test you out. It doesn’t listen to your plea that you don’t want be part in any of this, that you didn’t ask for that so-called “gift of life” on the first place. Now I am just terrified to jinx it–if I said, “I’m okay now. I’ve gotten through it. I feel good and glad that that terrible thing is over”, was that not an invitation to call for more calamity to come at my way?
Or maybe, no matter how I felt or what I said, it will just come any way; multiple stages of Murphy’s Law until the day I breathed my last.
So, why bother?
But humans do, or at least they will try to find reasons to do so.
I don’t think I have enough energy to bother finding one. But I certainly hope that at least that my job hunt will be fruitful by the end of this year. That way, maybe I’ll be able to move to another place where I can be bothered to think of hiking up Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Pfft.
Yeah, September doesn’t do much but highlight how I am still too angsty to be in my mid-twenties.