Bordering on Mad

We make our own sanctuaries. Taken during a rare solitary moment in the city. This would have to do. For now.

What was I doing when Michael Jackson died? Where was I when the number of H1N1 patients in the country reached the 700 mark? What now, Hayden Kho? Really? Gloria is running for congress in 2010? Who in the world is Jake Cuenca and what the heck is "Tayong Dalawa"? So, they've relocated the grocery section of Robinsons' Ermita to another side of the mall? Really? Since when?

Sorry, but I really didn't know. While the whole world was moving about, I was locked in mine.

My good friend, a constant but insensible victim of my whining, once said that I sound like I'm being locked up in Alcatraz. Well, I'm no Kevin Bacon but I do feel like Tim Robbins (as Andy Dufresne) in Shawshank Redemption, gnawing through stone walls with sticks, pebbles, and his very own nails. Slowly, slowly.... Sometimes, I try to glorify my pathetic state by imagining I'm Rapunzel in her tower. But Rapunzel was locked up there with nothing to do! And she had a prince that visits her every night, damn that slut! Even Andy Dufresne had Rita Hayworth!

I have none. Except the evil witch, for company. And she stares back at me when I look at the mirror. Jump off the tower, she says.

Someday, I just might consider doing that.

Before I completely break down, I need that out-of-town trip really soon. Or something more feasible that's exactly just like it.

Dawn through the CVS blinds. Morning comes. And I'm tired. Just tired.