Nausea

Bloody military turboprop planes creating a din throughout a peaceful afternoon.

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Why the fuck am I nauseous?

No, this is not a metaphysical Sartre discourse. Existentialism as a philosophy rocks, but it doesn't explain why my stomach is churning itself out like a washing machine set to maximum spin.

Argh.

Maybe it's psychosomatic. The more I blog about it the worse I feel.

At least it's a physical distraction from my crappy sorry state. I'd stay strong, be a pillar of strength for those around me. Keep the people around me happy, do well in school. But where do I find that strength? Nothing really motivates me.

Even if you win the rat race, you're still a rat.

Sometimes I wish I aren't as good a listening ear as I am. It sucks being saddled by the emotional baggage of friends, and AUGH. DO I LOOK LIKE A FREAKING SHRINK TO YOU. I HAVE PRESSURE. YOU HAVE PRESSURE.

And the worst thing is, the nausea is probably an impending gastroenteritis. Judging by the number of people I know who had recently suffered a similar fate.

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And here's a smorgasbord of songs that I've been listening to lately.


The Rolling Stones - Angie


The Zutons - Tired of Hanging Around


Eels - Novocaine For The Soul


Manic Street Preachers - Everything Must Go

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P.S. : Might it be the dead monitor lizard I stepped on the other day? They're known to harbour salmonella, a bad diarrhoea-causing bug.

P.P.S. : Be careful of what you trod over or roll over in Old Upper Thomson Road. It's where snakes/monkeys/lizards/birds/etc go to die.