Today, give a stranger one of your smiles. It might be the only sunshine he sees all day.- Quoted in P.S. I Love You, compiled by H. Jackson Brown, Jr.
There's a sharp pain in my neck reaching up till my forehead travelling all through the center of the skull. That still seems to be alright. It hasn't reached my cheek-bones yet. I had a good dinner a while ago, of course sitting alone in the living with my laptop in front of me. It's always nice to be in continuous contact with at least one person and talk as if we have been talking continuously since nobody knows when. The day starts and the talk proceeds as if it had never ended. That's always a luxury. The ache seems to hurt my eyes now. I can have a pill but I guess I will sleep in sometime. I have class at 10:30 am.
Some days back I asked my father why wasn't sending me e-mails. He complained that it was I who stopped. I wrote to him the next day. He said he will reply. I reminded him thrice since then. It's been a week since I wrote. He hasn't replied. I am not going to ask him now. It has just become one of those thing I won't be talking again. It might seem naive of me talk to my father daily on phone and even expect him to write to me. They are two different media with different emotions. So much has been reduced to basics. So much has ceased to be exciting. My eyes are hurting me now. I need to sleep.
I need to wash the cup I had soda in a while ago. The ice in it hasn't melted yet. The paper towel I keep with me while having food is still there on the floor and needs to be trashed. I need to brush my teeth, turn the alarm on and go to sleep. All this seems so much and yet I keep typing. There is so much to be done after waking up. I can feel blood moving in my fists when I close them. It's something like waves turning on and off inside my fingers. My forehead's going to burst now. I wish I could stay up longer. Perhaps the best way to fulfill a desire is to shut it off. At least there won't be any artificial looking hope after that. My parents keep breaking the hope often that I keep building repeatedly.