Pale wisps of mist and frost
cloud and curtain he who is lost.
Flaming light and burning fire
consume the one lost in desire.
When you're sick, there's not much you can do but take bed rest and medication. If, however, you are heavily inclined to push yourself to the limit, you could always go out into the perilous world and brave the adventures of daily life with pathogens coursing an angry path throughout your system. Of course, that is hardly a wise decision as it will only aggravate your body's defenses and worsen your condition but that is exactly what I did.
Granted, it was a temporary lapse in clear thinking but I suppose that a day or two of bed rest never killed anyone. As a matter of fact, it was during bed rest that I chanced upon an issue of a very interesting magazine. Alright, so it's a girly magazine but it sure is interesting nonetheless.
It said, "Love or the act of falling into it induces certain chemical reactions in your brain where the end result is euphoria. These chemicals are the reason why your stress melts away just seeing him smile." Okay, maybe those weren't the exact words but it is the gist of the article. Ha! Like I need some girly magazine to point out the obvious. Quite curious about the apparent stupidity, I read on.
"Love, however, can also produce negative side effects. The same chemicals responsible for euphoria also lower inhibit your alarmist side. Thus, you often find yourself saying it is perfectly alright to have a liesurely breakfast when you already are late for work." It was at this point that I found myself asking, "Why the hell haven't I subscribe to this magazine three years ago?"
See, I'm in big trouble. Well, not really *that* big, I mean, I still eat more than three times a day, have a roof over my head and thankfully, my organs are still intact, with the exception of my appendix and wisdom teeth. What I mean is that my academics have been in quite a dangerously low position. I have long accepted the fact that my graduation will most probably be delayed for, at most, a year. My parents, on the other hand, are being fed sneak peeks into a horror movie in the making. Two weeks from now, I'd say, "Mom, I'm not graduating this year," and Bam! The horror movie reaches its climax as the insane serial-killing mother slashes the blades at her poor unknowing miserable son.
I digress. The point is that had I known about these things about love, I probably would have known that I had been hurting myself long, long ago. Granted, I still hurt myself ever and anon but it's more like, "Take that you stupid jerk! Take that, and that! You rude, imprudent bastard!" instead of, "Hmmn, I wonder what knives feel like against my skin?"
I turned the pages and lo! Behold! A personality quiz! I never really invested much trust in those quizzes but I took it, nonetheless, curious as to what stereotype I'd be placed under. Three minutes passed and voila! I am the demanding date. Run and hide, all my crushes! Your pride will be crushed, your ego stomped and your wallet divestedof its contents!
I could not help a frustrated sigh. Clearly, I have underestimated girly magazines. It is as essential to me as the necronomicon is to a necromancer, or the bible to a priest, or the kamasutra to...
Err, never mind.