Slept at 3 a.m.
Had weird dreams that I don't remember.
Woke up at 11 a.m.
Woke up to Mag's SMS, then my mom's.
Slept again. Woke up for lunch.
Stared at HBO for a few minutes waiting for the Internet modem to turn on.
Changed my racquet's overgrip. Can't remember if I used the last of the pack of three I bought sometime back.
Just remembered that, yes, I did.
Waiting for boyfriend.
Nothing much to do.
A unit on the second floor is undergoing some renovation work. I can hear the drilling and destructing and reconstructing all the way up here on the seventh floor.
So numb, apparently, that I don't even notice it anymore.
Something has to be wrong with me if I've spent the past three days crying. Intermittently, to be sure; but crying nonetheless.
I think one day even the most patient person is going to get sick of this. And then he's going to leave.
Yay me. Good going self. Fucking up everything good that comes your way.
The only thing that's worse than Roger losing the US Open is the thought of this US Open being the last Grand Slam he's ever going to play.
In that sense, then, I'm glad there are still a few more years of Roger Federer GOAT tennis left for me.
I still wish he'd won though. Feel that much sadder now because he didn't.
My soma dissolved.