As expected, yesterday turned out to be the type of day that loves you in the dawn of morning but turns sour by breakfast and then starts beating you 16 hours into the relationship. I was groggy and deadbeat from the get-go, but the progression of the day drove the nail into the coffin.
My first class had been tedious. I mean it, in every sense of the word. It dragged like a broken tailpipe against concrete, and the screech of metal against asphalt is the voice of my professor who, though in a slow and almost sing-song manner, yammered endlessly about proto-languages and variations and manners of articulation which I have spent my entire year last year learning. As is the way, my brain went into “I already know this shit” mode and shut down for the rest of the class. I spent the next hour and a half discussing poetry with a friend and helping out with a song she’s writing, all the while eating suman and peanut butter biscuits. Well, I had to enjoy myself somehow! It wasn’t disrespectful in our classroom, anyway. You could pretty much do whatever you want as long as you don’t bug others.
The class after wasn’t so bad; it was my Speech Comm class. While I am not very big into public speaking (I introduced myself to the class by saying that I “want to punch people in the face when I talk to them”), I liked the class because the prof was engaging, and she knew her shit pretty darn well. Also, we were going to study nonverbal communication, which is as close to behavioral psychology as I can get. After Speech Comm, it was Phil Lit in English, but we just went to the local cinema to see a film showing instead of class. The movie was a B&W classic called A Portrait Of The Filipino Artist and I loved it (I would later find out that it was a Nick Joaquin brainchild) though I missed about three quarters of it, and the audio was muffled due to the quality of restoration.
Around this time, the weather had begun to fuck with itself and by extension with the puny humans, raining like a lunatic one minute and searing us with hot sunshine the next. I gave up on the umbrella and stuck with my jacket, with which I alternated from being wet with sweat to dripping with rainwater. I walked back to campus and sat through my last class, Media Studies. It was an informative class, my new go-to for weapons to critically hate mass media with. It also helped that the professor was a stiff but otherwise nice man, trying his best to be fun and somehow succeeding. I always walk out of that class feeling like I gained something. It’s a good feeling.
Then I stepped outside, and all hell has broken loose. Where concrete once was now sat pools of mud and murk, sinister puddles tricking you into thinking they’re shallow but pulling you in ankle-deep once you make the mistake of testing it. Water cascaded down every staircase.. And my campus was full of staircases (we’re on a mountain, you see). Rain was rain no more than it was a fucking spray from some godly pressure hose, and walking meant a few steps onto the ground, soaking my jeans to my thigh due to the splatter.
I could feel my feet shriveling to prunes in my shoes, all spongy and squishy. I felt the intense need to cry and laugh at the same time. Going home meant walking 30 minutes from school to the jeepney terminal, and the closer pedestrian lane I always take (because it leads to the more desolate alternate route) was closed. I wanted to set the roads on fire and kill everyone who makes eye contact, but I kept steady. I knew I had no other choice, so I just bore it and walked silently, concentrating on my music the whole time. I got there eventually, and the ride was as uneventful as could be, thankfully.
Having had no sleep, no breaks between classes, and little food the entire day, I had no qualms with the statement “home is where the heart is” when I got to my room. I wanted to do nothing but cocoon myself and hibernate for 3 straight weeks, but I was steeped in dirty rainwater (so was my bag) so I had to get clean before I could solidify myself in bed. I went around hanging my wet clothes outside, fixing my school things in a pile in my closet, washing dishes, making chicken soup, and all other matters of household obligations. By the time I finished, it was 10PM and I was wide awake. I was afraid for a moment that I would no longer be able to sleep again–because once my sleepiness has passed it is loathe to come back until daybreak–but once I shut down the computer, I promptly fell comatose.
Today I woke up with a splitting headache, a fever, and muscles feeling like they’ve been stewed, but otherwise I’m fine. I’ll be heading to class by 11; I was supposed to go to the woods for a poetry reading I was invited to, but since I feel like I might die if I take a long walk this early, I passed. Sucks. I was looking forward to it, and it would have been the first time I’d hang with more than 4 of the Baguio crowd, but I was still a little insecure with my poetry anyway, so it was probably okay. For now, I’m going back to sleep. *burrows*