To each his own cheerleader

"I feel similarly melancholic and cold," I told Kizia. "How about you?"

"Just the same. But can't stay and wallow in sadness all day."

And here I go again rambling about the weather, wondering whether the cold front has left everybody with cold shoulders and cold dispositions. Today I managed to squeeze out many attempts to get rescheduled and, eventually, get nothing out of it. There's this weird scenario today when I smelled too much perfume off someone. Maybe it's the weather, but I'm selectively irritable again, perhaps because I thought I won't be able to get home.

But, to each his own cheerleader. Things happen and I went home smiling and sleepy at the same time.

For some reason I'm sentimental without feeling like it. I don't know why I ended up writing "let this be a reminder before I let her go..." as a response to one of Kelly's questions, but nevertheless I did. (And if that made it to the radio, that would've been the most public it would get.) I don't even feel sad or bothered or anything - it's just that I left too much to the imagination lately, and you know what happens when I'm idle. I know, the feeling's coming for no reason. I'm not worried because there isn't any reason to be.

But, to each his own cheerleader. There's always the iMac at the radio lab and a million ways to flange my recorded voice.

Well, that response attracted a sad face. I guess she cared, and thankfully she did, although I was honestly surprised to get that instead of a feeling that I'm becoming very cynical. I'm still my old cynical self, probably worse, but things happen and you can't exactly prevent it. I got a reaction from Fran this morning about my (artistic, maybe?) status message about my inability to attend the Philippine Star meeting for journalism practices class, and you know what exactly happens when you become ambiguous - people think it's them. I felt a shout coming, but not really.

But why should I apologize? That, I asked myself today, out of something totally different. Today's the day when people bitch about the rain, computer viruses and the inability to express what you feel. Or there might be no need so, for one already is.

Call me sober, or weak, but surely, as with every November that has passed, it's always a wave of what-the-heck-is-this? - and it's definitely something you won't easily understand. Maybe the question of why the pinks matter more than the flowers, and then you get lost in your own thoughts, until you realize that it's all over with that.

Or synthetic concerns, or terrible fits, or misfits, or anything else.

"We can get through this. Go go go!"

Yes, it's hard fabricating depression. But, to each his own cheerleader. If one is to figure this out, then ask only when the time is right.

And your responses...

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