The state of vertigo

It’s been a summer of mutant ladybirds, transformed friends – a summer of hundreds of snails crossing the pathway, friends needing my guidance. Sometimes, instead of guiding, you grab their hand and take them from A to B, as simple as. Of course, it’s wrong because they still have no clue where they are at. What exact move was it? You draw all possible sorts of maps, leave crumbs before you enter the labyrinth yourself, and they can’t follow. I don’t know what else to do.

I hate feet, but sometimes, I would sit there, put my feet on my desk and stare at my toes for a while. I wouldn’t talk to them like Uma Thurman did in Kill Bill. I would only observe, though and imagine they were people, like school kids standing in the schoolyard during recess.

The only interesting things about my feet are my big toes, as both are non-conformists, which makes me proud. There is a big gap between each of my big toes and the little toes. As if the little ones are a group of soldiers about to shoot that outsider of a big toe.

I was told once that the big gap meant you were a loner who preferred solitary activities. However, if your toes are all happily close to each other (including the big toe), you are a clingy person who can’t be alone. This is the only thing I notice when looking at other people’s feet. Earlobes are interesting, too.

I’ve noticed how work is sucking me dry, eating up my energy. Every time I leave work, I feel drained, leaving me a bull’s headache and the need to throw up like I hadn’t breathed all day. Then I start to feel dizzy at the cinema, dizzy while reading in a vehicle and dizzy in a stuffy room.

Imagine someone has put you on a boat; the water isn’t still and never will be. You find it hard to stand on your feet, to keep your eyes peeled. You still need to focus on everything around you. The only thing you look forward to is the day you can jog and do your sit-ups and pushups.

I’m fine on these days. Currently, days like these occur once a week.

This state of vertigo… I’m waiting to throw up on your feet and have a good laugh. Sorry, I’m just sad that I can’t be an astronaut.

It’s not the fear of heights; it’s motion sickness. My eyes have changed; they seem weaker than ten years ago. Lately, whatever my eyes transmit to my brain makes me feel nauseated.

I work out. I sleep with the window open. I read without any problem.

So do I have circulation problems? Is my heart exhausted?

Vertigo, no, I’m not scared of heights, at least I don’t think so. I want to climb mountains and climb the rooftop. It’s just motion sickness, OK?

Too many pictures, too many movements – or are my eyes blurry?

I’m tired and hate everything about you. I don’t know why I still show gratitude while blaming you for everything and accusing you of things like I care. Maybe there are too many good people, and I always give you what you deserve, no matter how difficult it might be.

Fuck you, goodwill.

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