lungs are slowly painted snow as i breathe the fumes of the white lacquer spray paint for over 15 minutes inside the room that deprives air of escape. if i stay there for another minute my lungs would swell with toluene together with all the other chemicals trapped inside the can of aerosol paint.
my childhood memories tell me how i used to like the generic paint fumes and how i would secretly sniff it from freshly painted walls and furniture around the house. the pleasure one can derive from the occasional inhalations is addictive. yes, i was an addict. the smell paints an atmosphere of temporary euphoria, paralyzing the senses, in many ways than you could imagine and trapping you in a place devoid of fresh air to breathe- which at times could be your salvation that will remind you of who you are.
i underestimated the demi-god of the workplace when he ordered me to cover the coffee-colored stains on the walls using the can of lacquer spray paint. i thought the paint job will be as easy as a fart but i was wrong. standing on top of the aluminum ladder to target the stains spells h-a-r-d and spraying the paint all over the place spreads suffocation.
the first five minutes will give you a false feeling of happiness. childhood memories flood the mind, memories of first crush, first love, first kiss, etc. the next five minutes will offer thoughts of the future. plans in the next five years, possible career move, gradual changes in dispositions and ideologies, achieving goals set- most of these thoughts dominate the mind at this point. the more you stifle your breathing, the more you inhale the paint fumes. the following five minutes is cloudy, perhaps due to the amount of paint fumes inside your body. at this point, when the paint fumes dominate the oxygen in the air, a revolution starts to boil inside. thoughts of why the hell am i here and what the eff am i doing this crap pops and is suddenly replaced by feelings of self pity, anger, regrets, ecstasy, bliss, lust, pain, hope and excitement. without warning, those thoughts appear like shackles and chains that traps you in your situation. your head feels funny, your breathing limited, your heartbeats out of rhythm, your senses shut, and your spirit down as if enslaved by the can of paint in your hand.
at times like this, willpower is essential to free the self. i summon all the remaining strength and sanity of my being and decided to quit. i deliver the paint fumes to their exodus out into the office rooms, down to the corridor, out into the outdoors. i slam the door open just in time before my lungs get white.