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Hello everyone, my name is Felipe. I am 22 years old, was born in Brazil, and have been here for almost two years. My weekend was awful, but thankfully the awfulness of it ended with the start of the new week. At one place, I will focus on the little positive things about the recent facts; here I will focus on the negative.
The Friday that followed the horrible Thursday wasn't very interesting. Although I went out for an interview with the newspaper Xtra, I couldn't wait to get back home and keep consuming my sadness. I held my phone close to me all the time, hoping for something that didn't happen. Even worse, hoping for it was later considered a mistake, which I still ought to understand. No motivation to work on my assignments, no motivation to call a friend and ask for support. Despite all the other six fingers, the big fat thumb of the stages of loss was overruling. But ok, enough.
Saturday I took some action, but apparently it was too late. I appreciated going to Inside Out's Screen-a-thon with Suhail and Clare, but many times I caught my glance in the mirror looking awfully sad. I wonder why nobody approached me to say anything; I guess they were all intimidated by the scary castle walls. When I came back home I did nothing for a long long time. I stared at the watch waiting for it to turn into 11pm so that I could maybe try something else to solve things, but time passes really slowly when you're keeping an eye on it. So then I did call around 11pm, but I got no answer. I left a voice mail, and imagined that I would get a call back. For an unknown reason I started feeling bad because I knew the call I was waiting for would never come. I shook in my bed with anxiety nausea and grief spasms, continuing to suffer by anticipation for something that I had no clue that was actually happening. One more call around midnight, and the lack of answer that time gave me the last bit of unsustainable certainty that I needed to get to the bottom of the pond. I don't know how I managed to sleep, but I wish I had stayed awake to avoid the nightmares that came with that.
Sunday was the darkest day (to surprise those who thought it can't get worse). I had my training day at Ontario Place, and my negativity made me hate my job before even start it. When I finally got out of that hell, I tried calling once more. This time, an answer, but the tone of the voice confirmed everything that I didn't want to be confirmed. I tried to stay calm, and I swear I avoided most of my childish behaviours, but unfortunately some of them are just way too much unconscious. I fabricated answers, rushed a decision, and emotionally blackmailed. Nice combo for someone trying to repair things. At the end of the call I felt like I wouldn't get any news for weeks, but I didn't want to believe it. I almost sought help before going home, but running away was much easier. I spent the rest of the day alternating between my cold lonely futon mattress and my tedious assignment I needed done. I obviously didn't finish the assignment 100%, but I explained the situation to my professor, who understood and accepted my submission. I was calmly sleeping off my sorrow when Mister P then gets home and starts another Opera Scandal. I'm not sure what happened this time, but it came along with all the traditional ranting that I don't need to explain here. I had very little sleep between his finale and my alarm clock, so that knocked off my humour to 100km northeast of Baghdad.
SeeYa,
Feliploko, who could be either a Good Boy or a Bad Boy
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