Smile

It has been another very exhausting week. The sort where I get home in time for past-midnight TV shows but I am too fatigued to follow the plot and my eyesight is ridiculously blurred. I slouch into the sofa, yawn, and feel that life is being sucked out of me, to the final breath. I have little appetite to finish up the dinner laid before me. Has all my slavish slogging been worth it? Does anyone care? I don't know. Just the other day, someone pulled me aside along the corridor and told me that I just wasn't working hard enough. That was a crushing statement.

I'm seeing the doctor this coming Monday to review the results of my nerve test. I doubt there will be good news, and that's judging from experience. Probably I'll be hooked up on a long-term rehab programme with no indication of when I can expect to complete it. Or maybe I'll just be sent for another medical test once again, and have to wait one more month before I receive the results. But in spite of all my cynicism, the hope burns within me that maybe the doctor will tell me it's a miracle and I have been healed.

I need a vacation. A good and long and restful vacation, a vacation where I can find time for myself and find myself. But that will not be possible.

Right now, I just wish I can smile a genuinely happy smile. I wish so hard. I try to smile, and it comes out plastic.