Wednesday, January 21, 2009

January Clusterfuck

I bewail the fact that my first post for the year 2009 is not the one I had planned on posting. I had already written a draft for what was to be the first entry, which is a bow to the year that was, but sadly my computer has inconveniently decided to stop working just when my juices have squeezed themselves out of hiding. This is far from what I had written. It is anything but a bow to the past year, which when I come to think of isn’t that at all bad—in fact, it was quite good. Soon, I hope to post that entry. But in the mean time, I should get back to the issue at hand: real-time bitching.

Yes, I thought this year would start great. I mean, it sure seemed like the year was kicking off well until my life started to spiral down—yes, I dare call it—a clusterfuck. Well, life may seem a bit exaggerated, and it actually is since only some parts of my waking days are fucked up. But—oh well, you should get what I am trying to say.

Computer Meltdown
Like I said, my computer has decided to demonstrate the most unforgivable act any machine could do—to stop working. And as if things could not get worse, I was unable to back up a huge volume of my files. To give you a clear picture: my computer has not completely lost its ability to function—but it might as well have. You turn the darn thing on and it refuses to load the Windows profile, thereby refusing access to the system. All I get is a desktop with five ultimately useless icons.

The only thought that gives me hope and keeps me from bashing the useless piece of machine is that my cousin would be able to salvage what he can from the hard disk.

The thought of losing all the pictures makes my nape itch. And the thought of eventually having to download all the songs that I have in the old system makes me want to cry. But the thought that breaks my heart—and in turn, makes me want to run my nails down my neck—is that of losing my poems and short stories. I mean, gawd! There must be a way to recover all those files.

It should be a lesson for me, I take it, to not rely on computers when saving my poems. Because whatever happened to old-school writing-it-on-paper, right? Lazy me, yes. Damn it! I don’t want to think about it anymore.

And how you ask am I writing this when my computer’s on the fritz? Inquiring minds want to know, yes? Well, thanks to a need for file transfer. My godmother lent her laptop. So, thank you!

Dreadful Feet
Obviously, the other thing that drives me nuts is my feet. Gawd, they look dreadful. Beyond dreadful, to me.

I had my toes cleaned on 27th December 2008. And there is no other way to say this—although I hope I could make up a story to somewhat give colour to what happened—but that stubborn manicurist did it again. Well it happens almost every time she cleans my feet—I tell her not to remove the cuticle on my toes but she doesn’t listen, instead she digs deep and removes the cuticle. I had thought I have had immunity to the consequence of her folly, until I felt like a nerve on my feet had been cut. I was enjoying my chat with friend C and friend T too much to monitor her hands. It was too painful I thought I’d collapse then and there. But I thought things would be okay, like usual—that my feet would somehow miraculously heal quickly and be free from any serious harm.

But days after, my halluces were swollen, and before I knew it the rest of my toes were itching. Vesicles were appearing, and the itch intensified. I had my feet checked but the doctor was not the slightest bit thorough with the check-up. He just looked at my toes from a distance and concluded that they were infected. Well surely they were infected—no other way to explain it—but he could have examined my feet closer, you know. I was prescribed two ointments, and I think they worked because the vesicles started popping. Ugh, thinking back about it gives me goose bumps.

The rest of the household, along with my aunt, thought it must be some sort of supernatural matter so I had my cousin accompany me to a ’spiritual healer’ of kind. I have always believed in the existence of the supernatural so I gave it a try. I’d like to believe the medical and spiritual/supernatural aids worked well together because not long after, the vesicles had completely dried up, and the itching had ceased.

But until now, my halluces are still swollen up. And it seems, technically and without question, that my halluces both have ingrowing nails which causes the swelling. It eats me up during the day, and it’s pissing me off- big time.

I’ve been wearing bandages on my halluces for two weeks now, and I wear them to work to avoid any further infection, whatsoever. Tomorrow I am scheduled to meet with another doctor (hopefully this one is unlike the previous doctor I met), and I hope, with all sincerity and faith, that my feet would heal soon.

Transportation Trouble, and others
Since the year started, catching a ride to work has been extremely irksome. I have to stand at a corner of the street, with my dreadful feet—halluces in bandage—and all, and wait for the darn transportation. And as if having people staring at my feet wasn’t bad enough, I have to wait beside college students who blabber loudly about their supposed ‘challenging subjects’. And to think their school has a questionable reputation. I don’t mean to be a scholastic chauvinist but- Okay, I’ll stop myself before I say anything derogatory.

And you know that bloody thing when you’re already seething and little things like a bee buzzing in your face makes your day worse? That happens. And how can I possibly fail to mention how galling it is when my student starts the morning with a tired, retarded look matched with a rather retarded brain that just makes me want the ground to open up and swallow me whole.