It was one of those days. Woke up wandering why on earth did my dear soul end up trapped inside this imperfect body capsule. Hadn’t slept 10 minutes in a row during the night and spent the whole day wishing I was like “Marsellrebelldesosa”, who seems to be able to sleep only 4 hours a night. At 9h30 as I was finally reaching my REM stage, the damn phone rang: a hysterical secretary trying to get me on time to a recruiting session – it wasn’t my turn, obviously. Got dressed and went to “the bunker”. Nobody around and I was just going to nap over the laptop when a colleague arrived and switched the lights on – “Good morning!” Yeah, and I hate you bastard. The phone strikes again and I have to deal with half an hour of consulting bullshit on a low-coverage area, while feeling the brain getting fried next to my ear. Tried to work a bit and here comes the phone again: quality auditing to my project. Not during the next two weeks, pleeease… Keeping my eyelids in a horizontal position and guess what, the fucking phone rings again. Bad news, this time: a friend’s father just died last night, while sleeping. A father who had that kind of unique relationship with his daughter, so it seemed. Not that old, I believe. A “special parent” so it used to be commented. And I get to that inner line of thought on “how to deal with dead” and “why do we have to sleep”. Human imperfection, that’s it.
copyright: vitriolica
1 comment:
there was a song, from the 90's, I think, that said: live while I'm alive, sleep when I'm dead. sometimes it's impossible to tell that to you body, am I right ;)
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