333 days since my last post. 1157 days since my last job. Irony seems to haunt me in magic numbers. What a waste of a life. Would I still be alive if there's no debt to be returned? Would I have the courage to take my life off if there's no family to be considered. Reminds me of the time back in college when I used to think I'm a good writer.
Funny thing this, oh life
How you make the mighty fall
Only to remind him the secret lies
In grappling the vines of mirth
Amongst the boulders of thine rules
I'm writing poetry!!! Guess, it's easy if I put my heart into it. I feel sadness is the magic potion of a poet.
At times when heart is the tenderest and sorrow becomes the strings wringing the veins and squeezing the conscious,
poetry is the juice that drips around the bloods cornice
The reason for my reentry, the sadness that made the outpouring of poetry is my wife's words. Get out of this house. I was tipsy from wine and she was playing with my patience. When I lost it and threw the remote, she glared back at me and said get out. I felt helpless. I feel this house is not mine. This money is not mine. This living is not mine. Nothing is. Not even the air I'm breathing. The only thing I truly can call mine is the body. The only thing that's keeping this body from decaying is the debt. Hence the question, what a waste of life.
There's another thing that's keeping this alive.... hope. Hope that I can be somebody tomorrow. That my PHD is not useless. My ambition is not going unconquered. My desire is not leaving unquenched. I want to be on my feet. In my house. Bought of my money. My money. My life. I AM going to grab it back. Work on my science. Is this going to cost me my wife whom I love more than my own self? Do I really love her more than myself? May be I don't. May be its time I stand on my feet. May be it's time I walk my walk. Not our walk. I'm going to start to doing everything I have pushed aside in the hope of a better tomorrow. I'm going to make a better tomorrow for myself. MYSELF.
