I’ve been depriving myself of my much needed blog therapy
for months now. My old one is too haunted by the residues of…. Bianca, I just
want to commend you for your genius idea of compiling all those episodes of
stupid tears and insanity. Good job. Are you proud of yourself?
I’m not even sure if
I’m sarcastic. Sometimes it gets too foggy up there with all those crazy
neurons and hormones partying everyday the chambers of my brain are too clogged
with smoke I can’t even…
Anyway.
Yes. In fact. I am.
Two months and eight days. I didn’t expect. There is life
after death. Remnants of who you used to be—gather, compile, mold into
something new. Like those reprocessed products consumers don’t really like …you
know, those clocks made out of zesto packs. I used to hold some juice, but now
I am a clock. I am so cool. Different. But still the same.
And perhaps I am as
lame as my analogy… I told you, it gets foggy up there. I don’t understand.
Anyway.
Yes. There is life after death. Why am I even shocked? The
tiniest bit of my astonishment still perplexes me, seeing how I have died so
many times in life. When life sodomizes you with a cactus a little more than
the quota for insanity, you just can’t help but ask how the living crap am I still happy?
Doesn’t matter though. Because I am. Maybe it’s the
perpetual party going on in my brain that saves me. Good enough. Now to study.
