Is the game over?

March 6, 2008

I’m back in the game. I’m good. I’m sound. I’m out of the woods.

I just wish every day is like Saturday nights; when bottles of beer pile up; when endless talks linger in the atmosphere; when shadowy dark place light up with laughter; when butts numb while sitting in hard wooden benches; when pain dissolves in alcohol; when friends cheer you up; when memories fade, and all you care is the moment; when amnesia or Alzheimer’s prevails; when the world does not stop turning; when the world keeps turning that you’ll puke putrid stench of barbecue; when you don’t care less; when you feel torpid and paralysed.

I just love Saturday nights.

I just wish every day is like Sunday dawns; when DOTA keeps you up; when Tapsilog seems so yummy; when stomach feels empty; when excitement tries to paint a smile in your eyes though you look woebegone; when keyboard and mouse brush your fingers; when the monitor seems so close; when sight blurs; when you forget a little of everything; when riding a jeepney at four o’clock in the morning seem so nice; when the cold wind stroke your follicles; when the feeling of frigidity comes from the outside, not inside; when the wind knocks frigging pain for six.

I just love Sunday dawns.

And I’m back in game. I have stitches, but I’m fine. I have wounds and lacerations, but I can move one foot at a time. I’m good. I’m good. Really.

And I love the playing field.