I have been recurringly taking breaks in making my blog. My passion towards writing volatile entries is not yet lost; if anything it remains kindled within me, all that’s lacking is the jiving of my schedule. You heard it right! This has been the first time ever in my life that I can reasonably complain about how time apaces, and how it leaves me biting the dust. A bevy of school works to be submitted, a plethora of tasks to be made, and a myriad of thoughts to ponder, all clumped up in one solid mass of Armageddon-capable, astronomical ball of fire, ever-ready to destroy and create raucous on my still, seemingly-amicable mind. I don’t want to mumble and whimper about how hectic each day lately is, I still have free times which I do not use wisely. Yammering about things like that will only waste precious time, time which you can allot to fruitful work. The irony of life begets other ironies.

This week has been hellish. And even that is an understatement. To say that this week has been hell for me downplays what I have been through thus far. It’s not that strenuous, believe me. I just wanted to exaggerate on things to make it more dramatic. I have a thing for drama, you see. The existence of it makes my living worthwhile. Life needs a little spicing up every now and then. A little touch of turmeric, a pinch of salt and pepper, a whiff of sensuous vanilla, and a dash of imagination is all you need to make your existence a flavorful cauldron of exaggeration and theatrics.

I really do not have the slightest of ideas as to what to put up here. This is not forceful writing, for I am not forcing myself. Away from the keyboard, I converse. Well, monologic introspection is what I call it. I have a one on one talk with myself on things obliviously penetrating the semi-permeable membrane of consciousness. There are hundreds upon hundreds of wondrous things to contemplate upon; from the simple flight mechanics of birds to the incessant fencing of awns of trees as they get rushed by the indiscriminant chilly wind. There are also those that catch your attention, even if your attention keeps running away from you. One of which is the fulminating of thunderous clouds, bringing with them the giddy rain whose welcome has long been overdue.

The rainclouds have come back. Mornings have been cold. And to the corpus whose only after-sleep activity is rolling over the mattress, these instances are cornucopias of capriciousness. But to those who upon the squinting of the eyes from the faint light swathing the dead-to-the-touch skin, these instances are the most difficult to decide upon. Whether to stand up or go back to the realm of quasi-death, one tasked to wake up will always be faced timorously with the deciding motion of the legs, or the twitch of the eyes, or the electrocution of the limbs as a result of being encumbered.

I remembered one day, mentioning the pulsation of fired up neurons, when I was about to stand up. I tried to raise my hand to grab hold of the edge of my bed. To my astonishment, I sighed more of awe to the fact that my hand is zombified to the point of it being uncontrollable. I will it to rise up, but the weightlessness seems too heavy even to the will of the awakened. I waited for it to be filled again with the vitality of circulation, and once it got filled, I felt the tremendous charging of chagrined blood. I came to a halt upon thinking that I once refused entry to the life-giving nutrients of marching crimson renegades, and upon the unblocking of the one entry they so longed to destroy, they rebelled in insolence. I felt the thousands of needle-like pinches on my bed cloth lined skin. The pain was bearably frustrating. But it was a great wake-up call. I woke up fully awake, eyes opened wide, legs plodding the steep stairs down, and hands dangling like useless wires on quaintly inclined posts.

I’m really going nowhere with this blog entry. I’m going around in random. I’m putting not only myself in a labyrinth of verbose preposterousness, but also those who is reading this time-wasting blog. But before I end, I just want to share how much I enjoyed watching an old-fashioned clock, whose ticking tickles the ear. There were two students who were playing with it, dangling it in its chain of silvery entrapment, using it as a pendulum as a crude-effort of hypnotism. All to no avail! The clock, who is peremptorily hanged on a chain, bellows in mournful activism. That instance there, time got killed by a duo of disappointed students.

Breath-taken. If people may ask why I made that my title, I could only answer them one candid answer: whenever I see her smile, it’s as if my breathe gets punched out of me and I start to engage in asthmatic breathing. I’m continually breath-taken by her incessant sweetness, and it is by that that I dare not lose her from my side.

Thinking of her, maintains my state of breath-takeness. Keep me in this state, will you?=]