Keep my glass full until morning light
by Jolyn Low
It’s insane. Fewer than a hundred odd days, about 3 months. People have started counting down two days ago. And in a loss I’ve done nothing but waste away. It was rather insane that the movie screened last night was one so significant in my opinion. The concept of it astounds me. ‘In Time’. Its quite a fitting occurance isn’t it? When we are first created, we don’t even know if we’d make it out safe. So fragile and the potential for something hazardous to happen at such a delicate age being so high. Our time has never been definite, and I suppose the fact that every moment may be our last makes us so precarious beings. Moments and life should be utilized to its fullest; spent well. I don’t know when my life will end and I don’t know how. But I hope to be less jaded and to really live, a guilt-free, honest and happy life.
Such thoughts race through my mind these days because I woke up mad sick yesterday after complaining about an irritated throat and inflammation. The feeling of being unable to breathe because your airways are clogged up or just inflammed and hence small is so horrendous. I felt like giving up on breathing because it felt so horrible every time I forced a gasp. But it’s getting better. My immune system is utter shit though and really, self medication is never good. Not like visiting the doctor is better anyway.
I feel kinda sorry because I haven’t updated in such a long time but it might just be good because then my thoughts really accumulate. Catharsis at its finest. Especially so after a long weekend of thinking and being quiet observing and passing time.
Is this what I want? It’s a question that often confounds me and makes me lost again. It might’ve been teenage rebellion but what happened to being more aware and being ambitious.
Is this the essential part of being human? To live unknowingly and happily? It’s scary. I dread the day I pass on and end up like that dead horse (which was put down just because of a broken bone by the way – screw you cruel assholes) being put in for an autopsy and being torn apart. Maybe that’s how it feels like to be exposed utterly even after you’ve died. Whatever is left behind critically examined or kept for memories sake, maybe leaving a positive impact. Or will it just he thrown away? Useless in such an age?