Spot On

It’s not enough, never.

You don’t have enough sleep. You don’t have enough dreams. You don’t have enough time to get your wits back before making an imperfect cup o’ joe. ‘Cause there’s not enough sugar even though you thought there should be. But you’re wrong and you discover that a split second after you sip it. Not cool enough. You burn your tongue and the roof of your mouth.

An automatic chewing machine, you go through the mediocre breakfast lacking in salt. Take a shower. Look at the mirror. Not enough muscles but more than enough muffin top. Definitely not enough hair at parts you would appreciate it growing, more than enough at the rest. Shaving will have to be put off for another month or two to the inconvenience of some people.

God there are so many cars, rusty and new on the streets and highways, but somehow, you just can’t get a decent ride to the office. The train doesn’t have enough space but it’s overflowing with acrid human juice. The bus doesn’t have a seat for you but it’s got a lot of rattle to make you puke your mediocre breakfast out.

But just the same, you reach the office 30 minutes late. If only you got out of bed faster, ate quicker, ran like a rhino to the DTR computer. But you didn’t ’cause you don’t have enough energy, what with your medically unfit body and your bag that’s overweight. And that brand of multivitamins lied to you because Vitamin C has actually been found to be as good as placebo. So nothing’s helping your body take all the beating. See, the most important things are always not at your desired level but the crap of life is always spot on.

Work–there’s a lifetime of it. Like I said, spot on. At first, there is this satisfaction of finishing it at the end of the day. But once you get the hang of the game, you start to lose your zeal for it ’cause you know there’s more coming tomorrow, and the day after that, and the decade after that, and so on. There’s a lifetime of it.

Though somehow, the payoffs won’t last a lifetime. Sometimes, not even a week. For some really fucked up people, not even a day. Treat yourself out to a little fancy dinner, food’s more bad than good but it’s definitely more ridiculously expensive than plainly dear. Peep at your wallet and–voila–not enough bills.

The people around you, they’re kinda fun but they don’t even understand half you’re going through. Somehow, you have this stupid notion that they have to understand you when you can’t even put your entire life into proper perspective yourself. But something tells you that maybe all will feel better if someone truly can catch your drift even while you’re drifting off to outer space where everyone you’re missing is still there with you. But people like that are rare, and the ones who are like that typically have more than enough on their plates to really care.

So you move on. A big fish in a small pond or a small fish in the Pacific Ocean, about to get swallowed by a starving great white shark or sucked like a microscopic plankton by a sperm whale which just happened by. Your unimpressive resume sleeps in the file cabinet of a startup that doesn’t have enough experience but pays enough to make you buy a guitar. Not a Fender nor a Gibson. Just a plain woody guaranteed not to crack.

Choose your leisure from your table of finite options. Review Cebu Pacific’s promos where you book 5 months ahead of departure. At least you got the patience to wait because you don’t have enough money for instant results. In the meantime, a trip to the mall, window-shopping will do. Pick a crafty book for now and finish the first three chapters over three months’ worth of weekend nights devoid of drinking sessions. It’ll do. For now.

Relationship is past the honeymoon stage 9 months ago and currently at this phase where each one is expecting something the other one is short of. Love letters are dry and uninspired to say the least. “I love you” has become a horrible ear-splitting cliche you both would rather not hear for another year. Everything’s routine. No spark. Not sweet enough. Not long enough. Not wet and wild enough like it used to. All in all, romance tastes like your mediocre breakfast you almost puked in the rattling bus.

But finally! You’re out of the office after that overtime. Darkness is the most familiar face to you. Since the next day is already hot on your heels, everything seems to suddenly cooperate. Yes, that thing which strangles you decides to let up for a few brief hours before the sun rises. No honking on the streets but plenty of taxi cabs to ride home. No one’s watching. You’re free to go mad if you have the balls. Peace at last until you collapse on your bed sufficiently tired.

A tease.

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