The first thing I got when I stepped into the office today after an unwarranted long weekend, a vicious paper cut awaited me. It cut so deep, I could see my flesh, albeit a 0.15267mm of it. Sensing bad news a looming, I couldn't be more eager waiting for my desktop to start up. The calendar screamed at my face, I needed to do a presentation. Being still groggy from an overdose of medication didn't quite help with the speed nor the clarity. Incoherent was an understatement. Going through the slides, which by any means should be a piece of cake to me since I was last being trained to at least be able to present some topics plucked from the air, proved to be difficult. Firstly, the last of my voice didn't help. The pain in the throat was worsening every passing second that I had to speak. Lastly, I was all that the team had. Thankfully, just when I was running out of saliva to lubricate my throat, PapaTran came to the rescue.
The overpriced soup was possibly the most comforting dinner I can think of. Just 20 mins before that, I had to fight gastric pain and an useless bladder. It was pure relief to be home and to be on my bed. Just when I popped my last does of antibiotics for today, together with a cocktail of multi-coloured pills, an unusual box blinked. Reckon that it wouldn't be too important, I entertained my swollen eyes with ice packs. Intuition called me back. An uneasy feeling crept up my spine and so I checked.
What I read sent an array of emotions all around and not knowing how I should be feeling. The stuffed up nose still wouldn't pity me and let me go. The mind must be hallucinating, as I told myself. It was scary. I meant real scary because I thought I dreamt of exactly the same scene last night. It's NOT deja vu. I did dream of the same scene last night. I don't even know if I'm typing in my dreams now. Maybe the brains are too tired but I'm typing all these just to prove that at the point when I'm typing, I wasn't dreaming. Or am I?
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