Suffocate.

This morning, I was walking around when I noticed that I've been holding my breath for the past at least 3 minutes or so.

 

Maybe it was just me, maybe it was the sensation of holding your breath, or maybe it was the feeling as THOUGH I felt like I was holding my breath.

 

But work flowed and work flowed fast today. I panic, thinking off all the paperwork and things I need to do.

 

Medical terms and words leap out at my face, ready to pounce and swallow me alive if I don't submit.

 

Discharges leapt off the board, no doubt to be filled up completely by the time the clock strikes 5 this afternoon. I thank the Lord somehow that I can leave slightly earlier today.

 

It doesn't really help that I've been reading articles talking about "When do you know if its time to leave your job?" and "Step up and take the plunge: The Business Opportunity" and "Do you like working here?"

 

Maybe its a sign.

 

In a way, I want to apologise to the Higher Authorities. I was never really the person they wanted me to turn out to be and even with the job that I'm holding down now, 5 months into it and I'm ready to crack and spill military secrets.

 

But "Oh, let me dance!" will never ever be an option.

 

Its funny how sometimes, such a wide space can be so claustrophobic. Its funny how I forget to breathe when I'm stressed out. Its funny how I sit here, wondering if I've made the biggest mistake of my life to date, and I still wake up the next morning.

 

Its a 4 day week. And I'm ready to call this day 4.

 

In a way, I feel I need to toughen up. In a way, I feel as though I need to suck it up and just do it. Face the paperwork, the stupid medical terms one after another, let it all crumble around in my brain and drive me insane and I'll automatically send you out, give you rehab, send you out, see ya later, send you out, rest and recover, and then go home at the end of the day and shovel food into my mouth and play a stupid computer game.

 

This is life, folks.

 

But in a way, there's so much more to life. We don't live for work, we don't chase the cash. Where the only music that plays is a Gershwin tune and not the beeping of an IV drip.

 

Baby depressed again, ah?

 

Yalor.

 

Come here, sweetie. It's going to be okay.