Stupid Nightmare

I used to be ultrasensitive when I was a kid. The most meaningless aggregate of words easily offended me. Maybe that's one of the reasons why my playmates back then seldom invited me to games. I was the fragile girl with a big body built. I used to cry about it all the time.

I guess I wasn't done being a kid.

My mom verbally assaulted me earlier while I was trying to write something for my literary blog. As a 22-year-old, it should no longer be a big deal to me but her words found a way around my aortic arch, split my ventricular septum and sent my heart into a craze of disoriented pain. As a result, I closed my laptop without turning it off properly and went to the place of my friends from work.

I didn't want to come back. Since last night, I was obsessing about moving out and having a place of my own. I just find the atmosphere of our home lately to be not-at-all conducive for someone who writes, who needs a constant supply of peace and quiet like me. I can only imagine my mother's reaction to my little proposal of independence. I chose not to say a word.

Right now, I'm staring at an empty document in MS Word. The cursor just keeps on blinking like it's telling me to just give up and shove my head into the oven toaster. Before I do that, I'll try to reconstruct what's left of my heart.

I really wish that tomorrow, I'll wake up and laugh at this stupid nightmare.