I don’t even remember how this week started, but I’m pretty sure it consisted of me trying to finish off my do the Chemistry flashcards, the English homeworks and study for three long tests the next day. That being said, I think I have to say that prioritizing the flashcards over the tests I had was pretty stupid. But damn. Try having your ‘endearingly’ demanding Chemistry teacher for an adviser.

Let’s see what you’ll prioritize. Haha.

But thanks to stock knowledge and my intuition, I think I did alright. Not great, but alright.

Although, I soon found the test the least of my problems. Err, or, uhm, well maybe it is but whatever.

Last Tuesday, at around afternoon, I ate and drank something I probably shouldn’t have. But despite what my friends’ probable conclusions, no, it was not the drink that got me ill. I think it was the carbonara.

Carbonara has dairy products.

I’m sort of lactose intolerant.

Well, maybe not lactose intolerant, really. But my stomach turns upset when it comes to anything with too much cream, cheese or milk. Ha. Ha. Ha.

I never got this reaction before, though. I usually just get really bad stomach cramps. But I vomited everything I ate that night. The next day, too. Dad wanted me to be brought to the doctor. I told him: “Pa, unless you want my totally un-pretty vomit staining our newly cleaned car, I suggest you don’t force me to move or walk anywhere beyond four feet.”

All of a sudden, one of my aunts brought up the word ‘ulcer’. I immediately got scared. What if what happened to me twice in the summer of 2007 is happening again? I think I’ve been eating well. I still refuse to eat ampalaya (bitter gourd) but, yeah.

We were planning to get me to the doctor on Thursday. But that didn’t happen either. Dad was called to the office for a meeting so I was stuck in our house eating eight oranges till he got back again.

Then I ate five more before sleeping.

A lot, I know. But it was all I ate. Because I was too scared to try anything else, fearing I might vomit again. But after a day of, err, ‘orange therapy’, come Friday all that’s left was my slight fever and massive headache.

I didn’t need to go to the doctor after all.

But dears, here’s the bottom line:

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

So now I’m wondering how the hell I’m going to manage new lessons for Third Quarter while making up for my Long Tests.

Anyway, on a lighter note, I missed my friends. Come to think of it, it’s like I didn’t get to go to school for a week; if you count Saturday and Sunday.

I missed their noisiness, their gossips, chatters and blahs. Haha. What can I say, I love them.

My Busmates, too. They’re like, part of the family, aren’t they? Well, except some. (Cough, cough: Xerox Copy.)

I wonder if they missed me too, or that they’re relieved that there’s no one damaging their eardrums with her singing. Ha. Ha. I’m sure my column-mates missed me. I mean, come on? Where else would they find totally accessible mirrors within a stretched arm’s distance? LOL.

Okay, to those three particular friends of mine who is battling the “i-love-him-but-he-loves-her” disease, and losing pretty badly with the scores 129 to -2, here’s my piece of mind. I’m singling you three out, alright? You know who you are.

One thing you three have in common is that degree of awkwardness you feel when he’s there. You want to talk to him, in fact, you have something to say to him, but you don’t know how to.

Here’s the thing, who or what do you think is causing that strange aura? You? Him? Or the fact that he knows you like him?

Just forget that for a moment, will you? All the things you tell us you want to tell him. What do you think we can do about your situation? Our choices vary. And say you do find one that you think is right, do you think it really is right for you or did you ever think that maybe you chose it because it seemed the easiest to do?

Tell him what you want to tell him. Not us. Because you know how weird it is when you say to us that you don’t want to pull anyone else in your depression bubble but your hand’s still gripping at our arms? Do you catch my drift? I’m not being sarcastic. Well, maybe I am. But you know me. I’m sarcastic because I care about you.

But when I say tell him what you want to tell him, I’m certainly not suggesting you turn into an emotional wreck and tell him how much you miss how you were before all the drama.

Never say anything to anyone when you’re sad or angry. It usually just blows everything out of proportion.

Trust me, it ruins everything. I’ve been there. And I still avoid mentioning it to the guy I said all those things to.

This is sort of hard coz I see him and talk to him everyday. But I’m living proof there’s life for you and a guy after the heartbreak stage.

Anyway, if you want to say something to him, or discuss something, wait for ten minutes and see if you still want to ask him.

And also, remember this:

You were his friend first before you became this girl who fell for him.

;)

Compromise, alright?

Okay, yuck. I just ended my love-rant with a cheesy line. I am officially a loser.

Ha. Ha.

To an outsider reading this post, please excuse my totally amateur take on the love-guru. I’m a wannabe, I guess. LOL. But seriously. Guys are like shoes. They’re either that perfect pair of chucks, those pretty heels that make you feel nice or the last minute pair you saw before the store closes for a formal event.

If they don’t fit you, then sorry. He’s not for you. Maybe that saleslady tricked you or something, but you either take it back to the shop and fight for your right without question or doubt (LOL. OB!) Or just give up and live with it.

But there are other pretty and cute shoes, y’know. ;) 

And oh, to those who haven’t watched it yet, watch GLEE. I’m serious. It just takes one hour. One hour filled with total amusement. It’s nice! Give it a try. Their songs are pretty good too, y’know. I never knew Halo and Walking on Sunshine or It’s My Life and Confessions would sound so good.

ETA: WTH? NO GLEE TILL NOVEMBER? D:

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"Where it began, I can't begin to know when. But then I know it's growing strong." - Sweet Caroline, Glee.