Why Does Shit Happen WhenEVER I Wake Up

I don’t know how, but everytime I got perfect plans to spend the next day, the energy I had seemed to be washed away when I went to bed and woke up the next day. I wonder if it’s the effect of my bed being too comfy, or if it’s just me whose prime time is past the evening, but when I wake up, I feel like what should’ve happened to those who go TO bed (not go OFF bed)–weak and weary. I know that it’s somewhat influenced by my lifestyle and the Internet–damn, I’m still unable to manage my time.

And in times like that, the odds that shit will happen is clearly very high–almost every morning. I often too lazy to get off bed that I started procrastinating, and if this happened, my day would be really messed up. I don’t know how, but no wonder how lazy I was in a day, my engines were always working on top condition after 6 PM. At this time, I could stay up all night doing things I could never imagined when I was barely awake.

I’m about to begin a new semester of my junior year. This must not happen during my college terms, else it’ll ruin my study and my GPA (like what happened the previous two years, 1.71. Damn, I’m not proud of it.

Okay, I used to say that my day started when I take a bath. This really helped, a lot, to give me momentum to start a day very early. However, it’s also very hard to make myself hauling my ass to the bathroom most of the times. I knew that it’s all about habit–I think I should start sleeping at 10 pm and wake up at 5 or something am.

Seriously, I never hoped anyone would read this. It’s like a testimony of my qualities, of which mostly I’m not proud of.

But someone needs to confess, doesn’t he?

One Hell of A Night

Before this happened, the girl’s life was as normal as ever. So did the world, yet anything which happened to the girl did not directly affect the world in general, or alter its fate; however, the girl’s story would make history–or the future, in my case–more interesting.

It was pouring that night, and one could barely see a thing. The cold atmosphere could sting into one’s bone marrow, not to mention the raging thunder which deafened anyone’s ears. Rainwater drenched the road’s surface, making it slippery as hell at a sharp U-turn on a downhill slope.

In situations like that, an accident was most possible.

Nicolette Wynter was driving high-speed down the road, partially aware of the unfriendly weather while being afraid of coming late at home. Unfortunate to her, the short view distance caused her reflex to fail as she noticed a sharp downhill U-turn right ahead. When she finally turned her car, it was too late: a loud CRASH was heard, followed by shattering glass as it crashed upon the side wall. The rain was so heavy that few people noticed the accident: Nicolette lay helpless among the broken body of the car and the shattered glass, drenched in rainwater and her own blood for one hour before she finally found and sent to the hospital, to receive effective medical treatment.

Her mother Jocelyn, a single parent, was so surprised as she heard about the accident: by the time she arrived at the ICU room, Nicolette was already in a state of coma. Jocelyn’s heart sunk as she witnessed her daughter raving subconsciously on the ICU bed, and feared the worst as Nicolette was sent away to receive emergency treatment. However, Nickie survived the critical moments, and she gradually recovered during next days’ hospital stay.

At these times, Nicolette began seeing things in her dream.

She saw herself as a different girl–or woman, she didn’t know–living in an unknown place, probably up North, for she could remember nothing but redwood trees and frequent snowfall. She even confessed that during her critical moments, she remembered having a dream about how she’s supposed to have died that night, but was spared to replace another person who weren’t supposed to die but died; an event which would happen in the future. She had no idea about all of this, but came into a conclusion that what happened to her had given her a supernatural telepathic bond with someone else, perhaps she who took her place.

After that, her life was never the same again.

And so, the Lighthouse of Mankind begins. Little did she know that the woman’s memory she shared through dreams contained something that she must not see, and she was killed because of witnessing such. Little did she know that what she experienced as the other woman would determine the fate of the world, as well as humanity, in the future…

Author:

The day of the accident was dated October 8, 2049. How was the world at that time will be told at the next post. I must admit that I have to change a lot of things in the story, due to conditions in my former post Change? but I don’t have to start all over again, for the main plot in the story is hardly changed. Hope you understand this and still enjoy the story.

Until next time.

The Loser’s Guide of Procrastinating

1. Before you can postpone things out of your own desire (NOT out of necessity), you’ll have to fully understand the goal of doing this. Procrastinating for a whole day leads to a total misuse of the day, which; for those who feel like they’re born to do their works, is proved to be the most effective way to keep their sanity (though most of them won’t fancy doing it and the rest won’t openly admit it). The goal is to create a heaven out of one’s imagination by means of complete isolation from the society, or to create an alibi when you’re supposed to be somewhere else. To begin, you must ensure that the Loser spot of your right brain is turned on. To do so, you can do one of these things: jack off as soon as you’re awake, deny your stomach’s plea of eating for a whole day, or play a computer game which you find most addictive.

2. Stock up these things to help you survive while slacking off: snacks, food, drink, and tissue. Why tissue? You’ll find out on your own if you got bored during the process.

3. Don’t forget to completely isolate yourself from society: turn off your cell phone, lock the door, turn off the lamp, close shut the windows and curtains, and don’t forget to tell your neighbors that you’ll be out the day you’re about to slack off, so that nobody will bother you or be bothered to. This way, you can also using the help of the unwilling neighbors to strengthen your alibi, if that’s your intention.

4. Before you start wasting your day, pray for the worst: everything has its risk, and in this case something could happen to you while being isolated out of society and weeks later your curious neighbors will discover your bloated body in your bedroom. Don’t pray too long: this might save you from further wasting the day.

5. Enjoy the heaven of your imagination. If you don’t like it, you can laugh off it.

I should’ve created a new category for this sort of stuff: the shit category, where all posts of shit talks are stored.

Oh, gotta take a bath. Don’t ever think that I’ll be doing any of the shit written above: I’m too busy to do it. I just wrote it because I knew that I’ll be needing a laugh sometimes.

PS: I’m not responsible for anything happened out of this fictitious crap. If you fall to it, refer to the first paragraph: you’re a complete loser. You have been warned.

1.71

I like the number. 1.71, it’s quite intriguing as a title–but not as impressive, for GPA index. It is truly my GPA index, and I’m not proud of it.

Got thirsty, and my leg hurts. Damn it.

I just try to keep writing, even if there’s nothing in my head.

The Elusive Procrastinator

Two or three days ago or perhaps a week ago I wrote shit entitled The Two Sides of the Coin. It wasn’t totally crap though, it was quite fun writing something that you don’t even sure how several hours after the work was done. Truth is, I wasn’t quite sure whether it’s me or the manifestation of something else who wrote it. It doesn’t quite represent myself, but some of its contents sure does. I love to confuse everyone who tried to read and understand me, so perhaps it explains my motives.

But some half an hour ago a thought came across my mind–not the one I like, no. More or less, being a coin with two sides resulted into me being something I don’t fancy. The title explains what I am as a result of being such a supple and introvert person at once–the Elusive Procrastinator.

To other slackers and procrastinators who enjoyed his four walls protecting him from the danger of being too exposed to the world, the title might sound amusing. But for a person like me, whose genetics of being a slacker and procrastinator keep becoming less and less dominant and is on demand of being exposed to society while behaving as everyone expected, the title–which represents what I’m struggling not to be, not anymore–could mean a hindrance from being what I want to be. In my post Confessions of a Man Wannabe, I referred to myself as someone who’s physically and mentally pathetic, but is working to fix them up. I wanted to embrace my maturity as a full-grown man, but rather than being a man mentally, I prefer to be a man physically. Perhaps that’s the cause of a flaw in my plans–the Man Wannabe becomes the Elusive Procrastinator.

I loved to postpone things, enjoying the unnecessary idle between the time I was supposed to do a thing and the time I really did it. I enjoyed making excuses, many of which I’d regret endlessly at the end. And the excuses I made, on some of my activities which involved public necessities, rendered myself socially elusive. I don’t know whether it’s good for me or not, but being a procrastinator itself had done more harm on me than good. I fancy being elusive, and I’m proud of my elusiveness, but I can achieve (yes, achieve) it in some other ways. And, now that I’m already elusive, I could stop being a procrastinator and seek the other ways to master the arts of deception.

Anyways, while writing this, I’m postponing my bathing schedule–I should have done it two hours ago.

And about the next Lighthouse of Mankind post, perhaps I’ll come to it after a day or two. Damn it, I subconsciously procrastinating again.

About that two sides of the coin, a friend has suggested me to consult a psychiatrist, but it’s just not so me not to overcome my own problems myself.

Time to bring back order to my life.

Until next time.

El Shadow

I know that the title sounds VERY stupid. I can tell it myself, so don’t look at me like that.

My brother (a year younger than me) was SO surprised seeing me with my new looks–he agreed that I looked like M. Shadow of A7x but he ain’t calling me that–he called me L. Shadow instead. That sounds stupid, I know, but hey, why not? Won’t hurt nobody if I look a bit like M, with some tight tees, knitcap, shades, a bit piercing here and there, and arms full of tattoo, I could even look like eMineM. So what would it be? eLineM? Hahaha, it’s getting less and less funny.

I don’t know why I write this, honestly. I just know that I’ve gotta write something, and if otherwise, it’s killing me. I know that some of us were waiting for the Lighthouse posts, so don’t worry, I’m working on it–but apart from that, I gotta write something about me myself. Like the title: A Tribute for My Ego.

Oh, and I fell in love with this quotes, originally by me:

I was born to be your boss. This includes you, John. And you, Jane.

Newborn Me

Okay, I had had a bad hair day. Unlike my previous speculation, it was A bad hair DAY which lasted only a day, even less; and on the following day I decided not to give a damn about my hard-earned long hair by trimming it very short; like M. Shadow of A7x.

Since then, I decided to trash my old clothes and buy new ones–those that suits my new appearance. (Dang, I have problems typing “A” and “E”. Something’s wrong with my keyboard, or is it just my fingers that ain’t as agile as they used to?) Also, during my long, dull vacation (which you can notice from the lack of posts during June 20 to August 3) I’ve gained 10 pounds of weight. Goddamn my excess belly fat! This kinda hair and fashion style requires a big change in lifestyle, as well. I have to lose weight. Good thing is, my new appearance requires me to be physically and socially active.

Time to live my new lifestyle. Remember: there’s no such thing as a bad hair day.

Bad Hair Day

I had a bad hair day, so bad that it’ll come in a sense of bad hair days, or weeks, or months. Dang! But should one worry of having a bad hair day? No, of course not. If you’re a man, you can fix problems by trimming your hair clean–and if you’re a woman, you can clear the significant cuts and conceal it with a wig until it have grown long enough to be fixed.

Okay. Now about the chronology. It started with me walking coolly into a Johnny Andrean wanting a haircut and a quick wash. Couldn’t be any simpler. But when I saw the barber–a woman in her twenties with some indescribably asymmetric face and long hair dyed blond–I knew at once that something would go wrong. And it did.

The woman–with clearly poor response to any modern, open-minded yuppie society and any talk about hairfall–did my hair, but it was like my hair ain’t being done at all. It was like even I could do my own hair like tht. And about the next half hour, I could talk for hours about unprofessionals and how they do their job, getting paid and shit. But clearly I paid the bill after that quick, disappointing cut–$3.00, no less. Daaaaang.

And I’m going to return home on Sunday, facing my friends, exposing myself back to society (wait, it doesn’t mean that I spent my vacation in solitude), and doing my daily routines again. I clearly can’t do it with THIS kinda haircut!