SAMPLING OF THE MIND OF A DISTURBED

Prologue: This is scary. Really. What's happening? The apocalypse draws closer...

According to a recent lesson in my study of the English subject, people should write memoirs (as in what the geisha did... Haha)

This is totally pathetic... For tomorrow, I have a Math test and a homework in the aforementioned subject which I haven't prepared for by any means. Yet I am here, in the middle of the night, trying as hard not to sleep. Still, I do nothing, except for listening to them ballads that bring them mem'ries. (Now I'm a Texan? Should've opted for the Carrie date)

Going back to my previous statement at the very beginning of this insightful proverb (I like to attain coherence here... As much as possible), I do believe in that - in the making of a memoir, that is. For if you won't make it, someone else will, and boy, you won't like it. So what's my dilemma, well, this blogging is a means of writing a memoir. It kinda (both) fascinates and troubles me about my anonymity in my writing. If you have been an avid reader (Hats off to you!), you may have noticed that I am not the kind who narrates and tell specific names of people I mingle with in this pathetic life of mine in this world of turmoil we inhabit. The good thing about this is that it's truly personal, well, unless you were the person mentioned. But for the rest of humanity out there who often reads this gunk (I'm really impressed...), they are totally clueless... Okay, so that's through. But think about this dear self, what if in case (If and only if... shut up!) you have amnesia... What's the sense of all these things you have written about. Well, unless the feeling lingers, and some way, somehow, you'll remember the people you have been with... Thus, will it suffice the return of the lost treasures? (RNA and DNA experts, is this phenomenon possible? Sheesh!)

Okay, there's really no sense at all with all I am doing here. I feel like a lost cast from Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf (I extend my condolonces to Ernest Lehman's loved ones; Ernest [Yes, we are colleagues ] who wrote this, who died recently... [How proper]) Well at least, I had my shot. If only I had a shot. I could have been a contender. Thank you, finally, the truth. That which will set us free. That witch we do not mention. There's a moment, there's always a moment. Can't take my eyes off of you, til I find somebody new. Okay... Enough. This is turning out to be a guy version of Mary Catherine Gallagher with all of them monologues. And no, I do not kiss trees. Only... And that's the end of our show! Good night and good luck!

Hello doctor! And the birds flew over