I stopped counting my sneezes early this morning. Vitamin C runs along my blood in my veins now, I don't think I can drink anymore.
The mysterious disappearance of some quesadillas for lunch raised questions and conversation in the office. And the excitement of the hour ended with an apology in an email I heard being typed.
There's 100% orange juice, Lysol disinfectant spray, and anti-bacterial deep cleansing hand gel on my desk along with the sandwich I made for my lunch.
I think I'm going home.
My head is starting to hurt and today is 12-12.... do you know what that means?! me neither. I think that number follows me. Just like questions... questions follow me. People ask me all sorts of things, as if I should know what I'll be doing after graduation. I don't even know what I'll be doing tomorrow. What if I die and God decides I'm not one of those special people who deserve to come back to life after being dead for a couple of hours like that guy, Salvador Molina, who fought as "Ernesto" for la guerrilla Salvadoreña and got shot like five times and then came back to life after eight hours of being dead? I mean, chances are I will stay dead after dying.
People dream with dark tunnels and the light at the end, but he didn't see that. He just saw life as it was in my broken El Salvador. And I, I dream with number 12s and with once again seeing the sunset in the Pacific, my toes playing with the sand on a beach of that country that saw me grow too fast.
My brother said he wishes he was 10 again. He says that was a good age for him. Sometimes life is about nostalgia. Just like this blog.