CH1. Life Goes On 3: Post-Malady and on Being Slow

Hello, Tim!

After the Fever

It took me a whole week to go from feverish, limb-wobbling illness to a milder cough-cough and sore-throaty cold. This is one of my longest-spanning sicknesses, and now that the germs plaguing my body are more or less dissipate, I most certainly would want to extricate myself from any further maladies.
Sometimes I feel the impulse to smack the backside of the head of whoever told me that it would be all games and fairy dances after graduation, given that I am now undergoing nothing remotely of the sort.
The weather was already a nuisance to fight against. Through the course of the week, when I was still taking meds to combat the sickness, it was beyond horrible to stay in both environments, with or without air conditioning. It's too humid and hot to stay outdoors, but the aircon would then be too cold for my weakened body system. Aside from that, there was still a throng of offices to cope with, and I think it was the long distance walks that barricaded my sickness from a faster recovery I would receive had I stayed in bed more often. Minus the German courses, I also had to go to the German Institute to have my transcript verified, had some documents sent to the agency so that they can help me mail the application form for German universities, and I have also driving lessons to go to. I wouldn't say that any of them is meaningless -They are anything but- but it surely would be nice if I could have a whole day to myself and liberated from all obligations.

Tardiness

I admit, even before making this decision, I have been harboring several beliefs and so-called "life-mottos" that are objectively viewed as "childish and unrealistic".

"Slow" is a word that has stuck with me for almost as long as I was born. If I hadn't known better, I would speculate that I have ADD that was not diagnosed; I am easily distracted, and my train of thoughts are always zooming in and out, to and fro on different rails. It's a reinless horse with no one to direct. When it happens, what I was doing at the moment would also stop or at least slow down. Take my dishwashing for example. I would stand at the sink, singing along to the French pop songs that I play with my cellphone. One of the words in the lyrics would hook my attention, like a sweater whose string of yarn can get caught up by a twig on a tree you walk past. It's just one of the million ways to get me distracted, but in any case, it would end up with my hands that are gradually stopping in motion. Only after several moments would I snap out of the daze and get back to work. My mother is often irritated by my slouchy and slow work. It is one of the recurring topics that has been in our recent arguments, especially when it comes to part-time jobs.
I know that I am slow, but I suppose that it's the defense mechanisms in my gears that compels me to argue, to differ, and to contrast with some verbal oppositions every time I am described as "slow".
Call it an excuse, but I call my sloth-resembling philosophy a way of living leisurely, no matter how often it was brushed off with a flippant and a derogatory huff by my mother. I know that in this fast-moving society, there are not many spaces for people without the ability to "speed up", and my philosophy is possibly applicable only after retirement, and this is why I feel like I have to stop feeling sorry for myself and my slow nature.

This was a picture taken at Candy's place when I gave her a visit this Wednesday.
There are only less than two weeks before their college entrance test. Wish them good luck!

End

This pretty much concludes the week. Tomorrow at eight I would have to report at my little demons' house and be in charge for another day or two. I can already smell trouble and a free movie ticket on the way.

Sincerely,

Hugo