I'm having a bad day. Come to think of it, I've been having a hell of a month. But today, just this particular day is just not the day I'm very much happy about. It is just plain and simply a bad day, the baddest day of the week.
I am having a very busy day, but then again, I'm always busy. And I like being busy. I am busy because I like helping people. So much so that a lot of them just sort of gets drawn to me whenever a similar problem comes back again. And mind you, when I help people, I'm not very polite. In fact, I'm mostly quite sarcastic. Mainly because they keep repeating the same mistakes over and over again. And we keep meeting up because I end up answering the same problem over and over again.
Which leads me to think if it's any good trying to be helpful to people. Because then, you become their go-to-girl, and it doesn't matter if you've just recovered from pneumonia, or are having coughing fits due to the sudden changes in temperature or are also busy just to keep your life together. It doesn't matter because their tasks are sooo much more important than what you're doing right now.
Which pisses me off when people try to be helpful. Because I'm tired and just had a bad day and trying to control coughing fits. And any advice of how to get better just gets me agitated because I CAN'T. I'm in a middle of a lot of stuff that I can't get out of. And I don't like to stay in bed and get massages because I don't like massages from strangers I don't know.
Which brings me to this thing ... I like being busy even if being busy is slowly taking me nearer the grave - I'm not afraid to die. My fear is more on prolonged agony. If I took the advice of everyone afraid for my health, I wouldn't have lived long enough to have done the things I did. Because to me, I have lived and am still living, and doing something I really love doing is my absolute peace and my absolute hell ... and there are days when there's no where I ever want to be than to be in this exact same state. It's where I thrive. It's where I hold my breath only to start breathing again. This is how I live. It makes me happy and depressed at the same time.
So here's the thing ... I don't like people telling me how I should live unless I ask them to. It's my life, my death, my regret, my choice.
And if you're still reading this, you know me well enough to know that there's nothing you can do about it. See, I choose my friends wisely.