Things

I don’t think _____ can do anything. Its pissing me off greatly. And at the same time, ____ is supposed to do the bulk of the work (_____ is supposed to be superior to me) but I’m doing it instead. I don’t mind if I’m supposed to do that but thing is, I’m not supposed to do those.

And I don’t get acknowledged for that— its as if I’m supposed to do it all and ____ takes it as a given and recognises no difference. As a result, I feel that doing or not doing makes no difference so maybe I should probably not do anything but on the other hand, if I don’t do those, the entire thing will shrivel up and die.

And, the main, main thing is that— it doesn’t pay off. Because I only finish 60% of the thing (I’m supposed to do 25% theoretically), the other 40% is bound to screw up and the 40% always ends up being shared between _____ and me so its a really hasty job that doesn’t yield. And it affects the inital 60% too.

I’m just terribly puzzled. _____ does not seem interested in the least. I’ve made a horrible choice (yes, I can make choices as to which _____ to work with) but whatever, I never regret.

What I’m going to do is to do more than 90% of the thing from now on.

And surprisingly, doing 90% of the thing is much easier than finishing 60% and finding it in excess and end up scraping it and doing it again.

I have more than 12 things listed on my planner to do this weekend. And each one is significantly larger than just a mere number listed on the planner.

Long Before

Prose for sy’s musical composition titled ‘Imagination’.

He lay curled on the now scorched grass, centralised on the large, borderless field— eyes shut and body still. It will be long before someone realizes that he has been there for too long to be taking a nap and too strange to be choosing such a spot under the intense weather for a slumber that seemed to be lasting for days on end.

It will take even longer before someone strides up to him warily and ask if he was alright— a question which we only pose to confirm our worst fears. Seeing no signs indicated to reply, he will then pick out a decent twig nearby and tap the man on the shoulders, gently— a respectable effort made to demonstrate that he is still being regarded as one of the living. He will then watch his chest for the rises and falls— of air permeating in and out of the lungs. Next, he will pace around the body to exhaust the last doubts he has before he emerges convinced.

And there will be the familiar long pause— the shifting of one’s weight on one leg and alternating every other breathe, hand circling the chin. Only after this, he will be sufficiently convinced to make a move. The person who comes with him after this is often a policeman.

He will then dial for the ambulance which the person usually forgets to consider while circling around the body aimlessly and stopping occasionally just like the person did. He will then answer a call about chocolate-coated doughnuts for tea while he paces around further. Then he will ask the same questions he’s been trained to ask for the last 17 years to which he already knows the answers to.

And they will chat about the weather and how the last rain was close to 2 weeks ago— like it is the most natural thing to talk about at the moment.

Perhaps.

And when the man is lifted up, the grass would still be damp beneath his body.

How curious.