Confessions of A Jetlag Addict
(Nota Bene: Transported from www.katinkateeny.multiply.com)
So
I’m kinda liking this pseudo-high this jetlag is giving me. I’m trying
hard not to sleep at odd hours, limiting myself to sleeping during
normal hours (define normal?) As a result, I’m sorta floating about now.
I’ve
seen several squirrels and chipmunks now. In my stupor, I’ve imagined
them wearing bomber jackets, Indiana Jones-esque hats, and red Hawaiian
shirts. Such is the influence of good ol’ Walt on me.
It
isn’t so bad yet. Mostly because I haven’t had a minute to myself yet.
Except for now. Everyone’s out leading actual lives while I continue
bumming around. I’m totally resisting the urge to clean up the house.
Well, because this is carpet. Carpet’s a whole new arena for
asthmatic-y me. I’m used to marble floors that are oh-so-easy to
disinfect. What am I gonna do with all real and imagined bacteria
living in the fibres of the carpet?!?
But
because of this denying myself of having an actual emotional breakdown,
I’m kinda afraid of the time when it actually hits me. Maybe it’s not
so bad because I know I’m still going to see the Bear in a few months. (But how I miss him! Telenovela montages with sappy love songs were made for moments like this.) But on my Nth hour of watching VH1 (such a fascinating
channel, really) I realized I miss my daily brain-beating sessions by
watching Bulagaan. I miss Vic and Jose, damnit ("La, la, la, lala, La,
la, la, la, lala. La, la, la, la, la, la, LA!") That beats Angelina’s
confession about her actual relationship with El Brad-o. ("We’re bound
to our children, and that’s what’s important." Sure. If you ask me,
you’re just running out of space to tattoo another weird marriage for
posterity.) I miss the inefficiency of the guards of Burgundy. Ugh. And
yes, the never-ending drilling of Esteban Abada that remind the good
people of Quezon City that Sonny Belmonte really is doing his darnest
to make Quezon City the best city in the entire frikkin’ world!
(THUNDER! LIGHTNING! DRY ICE! FADE TO BLACK!!!)
Oy.
Of course, this isn’t just jetlag. Folks, let it be known that I am,
uh, discontinuing certain habits that have become a way of life for
someone who has been living alone for 5 years. Yes, by Jiminy Cricket
(curse you, Walt!), I shall overcome.
Deep, slow, well-paced breaths.
