***
Extremely Frightful Night

My mother had to be a bitch and woke me up in the middle of the night by turning off my air-conditioner, telling me I'd get even more sick if I had it on. I told her my brains would fry if she turned it off. Then I don't know how it happened, or even if she was to blame in the first place for waking me up, but I started lapsing into a series of seizures.

I didn't know what the fuck was happening, it felt like I was being exorcized, and I just wished I could die, because being totally out of control of your own body is a very horrible thing indeed. I spent an hour shivering, suffering muscle contractions and praying for respite because God was supposed to love me and this wasn’t supposed to be happening.

And if it was the devil (all right, so I’m quite irrationally spiritual in certain respects) he shouldn’t be having such a hold over me because he is the fallen one and fallen beings aren’t supposed to have power over ones that have the favour of God (which is not to say exclusive to people who believe in God; But the fact that human beings have not been expressively condemned by God, ensures that we have more power then the one that has.)

Religious rationalizations aside, I was one really scared kid. So scared I was wondering if it would be a sensible thing to do to call for an ambulance. Of course, before I’d call for an ambulance, I’d want to make sure if it made sense to do so, so I asked the lady on the line (Believe it or not, I was actually still capable of sane conversation between incontrollable bouts of muscular convulsion) I asked her if it was necessary, or if she knew any other alternative means or whatever. Because I seriously didn’t want to leave my bed. Apparently not.

***

Which makes me wonder about two things. Firstly, how can hospital staff manning the 911 hot-line possible be so ignorant. Secondly, were they trying to rip people off? I don’t think seizures are all that uncommon, and surely people couldn’t be calling for a damn ambulance every time they had an attack.

The girlfriend’s sister was involved in the mildest accident possible recently when the SBS bus she was on collided with a –insert colossal vehicle of choice- and there was absolutely nothing wrong with her aside from a sprained arm and they insisted on putting her onto an ambulance on a stretcher! She went out for dinner promptly that evening at you local generic barbecue cum steamboat restaurant.

***

I texted Mr. G. knowing that he knows about shit like that, but he didn’t get back to me till I was fast asleep and sweltering my brains out under a pile of blankets, thankfully after regaining some control of my limbs.

I don’t suppose he could have done much anyway. But I was so horribly scared out of my wits I just wanted someone to tell me everything would be all right. An Overdose of Panadol was all that was needed, eventually. I must have swallowed half a strip.

You know how sometimes you look at your fingers and wonder how its so amazing they move simply because your mind tells them to move? And then you will them to move, but they don’t move because you’re pretending that your mind’s stop having the capacity to mobilize them; Last night felt like that. Only, at points, I wasn’t quite able to make a distinction between when my mind was pretending or when it simply felt too drugged and too fried to send a signal that was clear enough to any part of my body.

***

Mr. Saccharine text me again this morning. Terribly annoying. I don’t know what kind of fucking game he’s playing at, but I’ve decided I’m in far too bad a mood to amuse him any longer.

Did I dream of you? I was having visions of a journey through hell, so thank you very much for your interest in my nighttime hallucinations.

The girlfriend met him at the bar the other day and he told her that I kept on sending him masochistic texts. Well, stop being stupid, I am masochistic, and you keep sending me such sweet nonsense I’m really just trying to force you out of that retarded state of mind where you think every girl Is willing to oblige you just because your nice. Ugh! Your so saccharine it makes me sick goddamnit.

You tell me my girlfriend’s uptight about things behind her back and tell her that I’m masochistic behind my back. Look, that kind of stupid game is for high-school wanna-be jocks who warm the bench, not men who are supposed to be grown up!

*barf*

My stomach’s sick enough as it is.

fffff