Alimungaw 2

Sometimes you wake up with the thought that there's nothing to do but turn on the laptop, go online to see what's there. You pull up your email, Facebook, and other online social networking sites you use and you find nothing new.

It's as if the world hasn't moved one bit since the last time you were awake, yet it was more than twelve hours ago.

It was twelve long hours ago when you decided to shut down the the burning laptop because it's temperature seemed to reach your head. You felt the urge to spend more time in front of the damn rectangle screen that changes what it shows in just one click. But you know it can eventually make your eyeballs fall out of their sockets and explode, allowing constellations of blood to form in a universe composed of your lap, the keyboard, the dusty walls, and your computer screen.

You imagine these things happening and then you realize, twenty minutes has passed since your imagination started to make a fool out of you, giving you the false impression that you'll end up with a fucking brilliant idea, so brilliant it could turn the hell you're in into heaven.

But like what you've always known 'though never really admitted, you are not wise. And so you spend twenty empty minutes which you can't take back but still comfort yourself by thinking otherwise. There you are, drunk and incapacitated by your own illusions, wasting important seconds like annoying drops from a leaky faucet, little things which could have helped make a big difference in your life and in the world which has imperfections you want to change but won't because you're too lazy to entertain the possibility that you can.

So there go those pieces of life, flowing merrily down the drain. You let them go without lifting a finger. Your eyes staring at them as if the scene never registered in your brain, and as if you don't have eyes at all. You sit there and watch them slip away with arms across your chest; with every part of you cold and indifferent.

You stand up, grab your towel, and move on.