Whipped and Devastated

Life, and much else associated with it, seems to take on a slightly greenish tint after four days, and nights, of next to no sleep. Inanimate object seem to possess a mind of their own, and stubbornly refuse to slide into sharp focus. Muscles expand and contract without prior notice, and sudden noises never fail to startle. Individual words seem to make sense, but sentences get lost somewhere in the depths of one's brain. Worst of all, horrifying latent urges become apparent and most difficult to control, and on many occasions, one almost commits oneself to heinous acts such as swiping pearl necklaces and hiding them in flower-pots. Oh, and lest I forget, the imagination boggles.
Therefore, for any of you who inadvertently find themselves in a similar situation, I have advice. Energy-intensive physical activity doesn't quite help the situation.

That said, let the games begin.

As for the title to this post, its irrelevance is merely an illusion, as is the irrelevance of the rest of this post. The title, if popular opinion is to be believed, is what I am going to be in a little more than 24 hours from now. Or so they say.
I would like to disagree, but I can't quite be sure.
For, as I briefly mentioned earlier, I'm no Superman.

Oh, Bloody Oh!

This is what I found out today.
It takes an average of 10 years for somebody’s spit to get completely cleared out of your system. 10 years. 10 effing years.

Do you people realize how significant this news is? Do you people have any idea of the implications of this find? It has opened up an entirely new line of thought for me. Questions earlier unthought of are now vying for my very limited mind-space.

Do spits retain their individuality in someone else’s system? Do they practice healthy, communal living, or do they have their own petty feuds and quarrels? Do they lose their vitality and uniqueness with time? Most importantly, what happens when two spits meet?

Spit-Sample 1: Hey. You seem new around here. Who are you?
Spit-Sample 2: Hi! You’re right, I am new here. I arrived yesterday. I’m ABC’s spit. What about you?
SS1: I’m XYZ’s spit. So how might you be doing?
SS2: Quite good. I am, however, a little curious. How did you end up inside Manu?
SS1: Manu? Oh, are you referring to the tall, good-looking guy we’re having this conversation inside? Pretty much the same way you did, I’m guessing.
SS2 (Gasping): WHAT!! How long have you been here?

Case 1 (Manu has a narrow escape):
SS1: A fairly long time, I think. A couple of years, maybe. I’ve begun to get a bit bored, actually. There’s not much to do around here. And to think, I have another 8 or so years to spend like this.
SS2 (Relieved): Oh, it’s okay then. For a minute there I was a bit scared. Anyway, don’t worry too much. We could hang out together if you want. Those are some lovely enzymes you’ve got, by the way. Where did you manage to come across those.
SS1 (Pleased): Ooh, you like them? I got them somewhere near his Pancreas. We could go there sometime.
(They end up going enzyme-shopping together, and compliment each other on their shoes).

Case 2 (Manu is not so lucky):
SS1: Two, maybe three days ago. Why, what happened?
SS2 (Now slightly pale. More pale than usual spit, anyway): WHAT!! The louse. He’s going to pay for this. Somebody gonna get a hurt real bad. Somebody.

(They bitch about Manu and his wanton ways.)

Man, this is scary. I should be afraid. Very afraid. Earth-shattering information like that, I could very well live without.

After all, I’m no Superman.

I’m Still Alive

It’s been a while. More than three months, if I be slightly more precise. The comments to my previous post tell me that my absence has not gone unnoticed. Many have left comments asking me where I am (or was). There has also been much unnecessary theorizing about the causes of my extended leave. Quite a few have put forth their own hypotheses, some of them, like Mr. Kant’s, being unclear to the point of absurdity, but many more, mercifully, have asked me to make clear my reasons, instead of venturing to explain them on their own. Most, and I am very thankful to God for this, have merely enquired as to my whereabouts, or, to put it as many of them have, whether I’m still alive.

I am. I’m still alive. I’m more alive than I’ve been in a very long time. I can feel myself again. I can feel every little joy magnified a thousand times, and every little jolt made a thousand times worse.

The last three months have passed in a whirlwind of activity and excitement. Some of it has been good, and some of it has been bad. But I’ve lived through every single moment of it all. In every sense of the word, I’m still alive.

All of my alleged well-wishers can therefore stop worrying. And Mr. Kant can go stick his head in a pig.
Thank You.