Drown or Die

I do things until I drown or die. When I discover something I like, I do it over and over and over again, until people around me get sick of seeing me doing the same thing, or until my mom nag me endlessly, on let's say why I wear the same slippers a week in a row. Want a vivid example?

Back in my sophomore year, I went nuts over the empanada (meat stuffed bread) being sold by the school cafeteria that I ate it for the whole semester, I'm not exaggerating. Fearing for my life, I excuse myself an hour before the break, and buy my dose in advance. By the third grading period, my body started to rebel over my indulgence. I initially thought the formula had gone wrong, or they have a new, less competent baker. I being geeky self, started to survey my classmates about the change in the recipe, and to my surprise, the weird tummy regurgitating feeling was mine alone. On that fateful day, one bite was all it took to dig the message down my stubborn a**, one bite and all my breakfast food went down the drain. It's gross. A decade had passed, and I haven't touched a single empanada, just the thought of it makes me squeamish.

So yes, I do things until I drown or die, I'm mad and passionate like that, who says being half crazy is easy by the way?

Moral of the story: Everything in excess is toxic, just like LOVE, MONEY, FAME, and that bad ass empanada.



Your NeuroChiq,
Dang