It's official...

I am:

Sad Happy Overwhelmed Surprised Shocked Breathless Speechless Moping Amiss Glad Defenseless Happy

Surprisingly, I am not:

Over-analyzing Condescending Worried Fearful Mad Apprehensive

My job

My job is ok. It's not exactly self-fulfilling, but it's a job. I have been asked by three people if I am willing to take on the responsibility(ies) of supporting another department.

After my discussion with Es yesterday, I have decided that I will not go beyond ordering office supplies unless I am paid for supporting two departments. I will not admistrate anything unless I get an increase. I am not money-hungry, I am just smart. I was actually considering taking on the second job with no qualms, but my smarter self realized that I'm going to be short-changed. There is no way I will add ten more employees under my belt without being paid extra. I get along with most of the people in the other department, but additional job responsibilities warrants additional $$$. The question is would they rather pay me a few extra $$$, or would they hire another adiministrator for twice as much as my increase?

I hope they are smart.

Brad's butt

On Friday, I saw Brad Pitt's butt. It was the most wonderful, near-heaven experience of my life. Also, it is the first naked butt I have seen in a while.

I told Pecker about it as soon as I got home.

Then, I had a nightmare the next morning.

Ack.

I have painfully discovered that the only thing to counter Pecker's "sweet dreams" is fantazing about Brad's butt.

I thought that "sweet dreams" meant dreaming of his (Brad's) butt.

Ugh.

Summary of my day

This morning:

1. LH told me that my way of taking a shower is incorrect. How the hell can you take a shower wrong? Why did we even have that discussion? So as long as I get out of the shower squeaky freakin' clean, my way will always be right. No worries here, the only person I'm giving a bath is myself.
2. I had a political debate with Cryo Guy regarding the "comparative advantage" and the "invisible hand" in Free Trade and Globalization. I respect his opinions. However, until you have experienced wading through shit-, garbage-, and needle-infested water, walk past huts the size of a bathroom housing six people, while malnourished, starving children with protruding bellies tug at your shirt for an extra five pesos to feed half their family, in order to attend political ideology educational training to help make their lives "better," don't give me bullshit about not fucking caring about the people "who do not do anything with their lives." Unfortunately, the "invisible hand" is slapping the Third World Countries around on their sorry asses and the only fucking "comparative advantage" is that the rich are getting richer while the poor wallow in depression, because people like you only care about profits. You're lucky you got here, most people don't even make it to the embassy.
   

And...drum roll, please...

I slowly felt the air turn stale as it escaped through my mouth. My chest carried the weight of a piano. (And, no, this was not the result of smoking.) I could hear the beating slow to an unbearable tap. My dog took one look at me and knew that my heart was breaking. He followed me around and stood at my side. He waited till I picked him up and he let me hug him, as he conformed to the soft cushion that my lap and my tummy made.

This is not good.

(On my mark) Time for Plan B.

(Get set) I will never be afraid to run.

(Go?)

If I had a choice

I wore a pretty sleeveless blouse (*shudder* jacs, the macho wo/man is now cross-dressing) that showed a hint of cleavage. I didn't notice that before I left for work this morning, as I was still sleep-walking. The openings to the arms were also quite lose; I concurred that I had lost a significant amount of weight, yet again. As I looked in the drab comfort room mirror at the office, the dim light bulb in my head showed a sign of light. I pulled the top part of my blouse forward with both hands; the arms suddenly fit and the low v-neck was not as low as I supposed it should be. Eureka! I did not have enough in the front part of my upper torso to fill in the blouse.

Thus, if I had a choice between a boob job and having a psychiatrist on retainer, I would definitely have the boobies grow a little. Just a tiny bit. Why, you might ask. At 23, I have come to the solid conclusion that my mental state is hopeless. Why waste all that money on therapy that won't work? I have friends for that.

Now, having enhanced boobies will help me fill out several blouses that I thought loosened because of weight loss. A boob job will also give the illusion that I have a waist line.

Unfortunately, I do not have the money for a boob job. It is only a pipe dream. In truth, I would never get one for fear of health risks and yucky men. I also have other things to worry about, such as purchasing a house in the next year and paying off my debt to the government for wishing to further my education.

But, really, if I had that choice, I would get boobies.

Before bedtime

I want to do the weirdest things before going to bed.

I just cleaned the toilet. I stood, hunched over the bowl, scrubbing away for five minutes careful not to splash toilet water on my legs. Right after brushing my teeth.

A few nights ago, at 930pm, I washed my do-not-throw-in-washing-machine blouses before flossing.

I also force myself to read at least two pages of the current book-on-the-finish-list even though my brain cannot comprehend the words and my eyes are squinting from fatigue.

I've always liked night time because it's quiet and people think that I am eventually going to fall asleep, so they do not bother to bore me with things that I can worry about the next morning.

Night time is when I get my things done; the time when I get my shit together. It is the last few hours when I am left alone.

Ironically, it is also the part of day I do not wish to experience asleep.

Mom's Orchid

Two weeks ago, Mom and I went shopping and I helped her pick out her first orchid of the year.

This is a view of it from outside our window.

I think it is beautiful.

Unbelievable

The same goes for CBF. I would be very sad if we discontinued our daily conversations. There are certain people I have left in memory for sake of distance. Because of this, the few that share my mundane life are the ones I hold dear. Our Mondays are to catch up on the weekend that passed. I usually have nothing to say, because my life is filled with sleep, bills, sleep and thinking. I told her last Monday that I met a guy over the weekend and I finally got laid. This is what she said: "That is, by far, the biggest lie you have ever told."

What? Me, a liar?

When the ships came back on Wednesday, I told Qball that I had gotten a tattoo. She looked at me, in between bites of our favorite veggie burger, raised an eyebrow and said, "You? Whatever."

I don't get it.

Why are these possiblities unbelievable?

CBF explained that the key word is feasible. How can me getting laid or getting a tattoo not be feasible?

I know that I may be overly compensating in being unbearably responsible. I know that my friends believe the only time I was irrational was when LL was still in my life.

I do not blame them. I am who I am. And this is how I've made myself out to be. I am amused and a bit irate with myself because there are many things that I wish I could do, things that would surprise even me. However, reason has a way of taking over and I think before I leap; I don't even bother looking. Consequences. People. Mistakes. Doing the right thing.

I will find a way to get over this before I turn 30. Ok, I will at least try.

But I do vow that:

One day, I will get laid. I may even get a tattoo.

And I will not share this when it happens.

Because no one will believe me.

I wouldn't.

A minute fear

I whined all yesterday morning to LH about the terrible news I had received the night before, about the plans being changed. It took four hours for it to settle in until I decided that wasting emotion on the inevitable doesn't fly for a 23-year-old.

In the back of my mind, I doubted that Pecker and I would talk again that night, for we had conversed ourselves to sleep the night before. Though I still hoped that we could at least chat, I decided to keep it at that. There's nothing more irritating than unsolicited extra effort. Surprisingly, when I got home, he texts me that he'd call me if I wasn't busy. So we talked, yet again, for a good three hours. The night swept by and I had lost track of time.

Sometimes, I wonder, how long it will take before this ends? How long will it take to run out of things to say? To get bored? To repeat stories more than twice?

My parents have a great relationship. They always have so much to say to each other. I will have this someday.

-------

I am in the moment of relishing these conversations with always something in mind, the words piling up in my head. At the end of each day, there are still things left unsaid.

Somehow, I know there is nothing for me to be afraid of. Not all good things come to an end...

I hope.

Change of plans

Last night, I finally found out what maybe Pecker was referring to. After 30 minutes of whining, I came up with this:

Maybe = Likely = 50/50

After 5 minutes more of whining (Pecker was being very patient, but was falling asleep), I finally concurred:

Prayer (for a miracle) + Sleep - Whining = Good Possibility

In any event, the planetary alignments have threatened to throw me off the face of the earth if I so much as whimper.

There is a reason, they say, for the mental anguish of waiting.

On second thought

I still hope maybe means very possibly.

Thoughts I remember thinking while I was driving home

=Our parents taught us bribery. E.g. If you do ______, I'll give you ______.

=Maybe means No.

=There is a difference between having everything and being everything.

=We will always be nicer to our friends than our family, with a few exceptions.

=I am my worst enemy.

=Expectation breeds contempt.

=I hate pink.

=But I look good in pink (or so I think, or, maybe, I look like cotton candy).

=Male and Female are not the same; they are not equal, either. Admit it. One will always be somewhat above the other.

=Getting your first car and your driver's license doesn't mean that you can haul ass everywhere, any time you choose.

=Freedom is different when you're 20-something. I realized that I had more freedom in high school and college, i.e. freedom to sneak out, freedom to be irresponsible. Now that I can do whatever I want, whenever I want, there is nothing I want to do.

=Apathy and Laziness are one and the same.

=There is a difference between being fearful and being a coward. I don't know what exactly, but there is.

=There is such a thing as a Quarter-life Crisis.

=When you love someone and he screws you over and you promise to be smarter the next time around, you've pretty much set yourself up for "Single Blessedness" the rest of your life. Being smarter after a blow to the head and a punch in the tummy does not exist.

=Being intelligent does not guarantee less heartache. Smart people over-analyze themselves into confusion.

=Patience is not a virtue; it is a skill.

=A veggie burger with ground beef chili balance each other out.

=First loves do die (not literally, of course, but don't we sometimes wish?).

=Ghosts do exist. They are also known as memories, and they will haunt you every now and again.

=I have over -ty pairs of shoes, but there are still things in my closet that don't have shoes to match.

=Promises breed expectation.

=I give great advice, but I never take it.

=Most men do not understand the concept of dropping hints.

=Most men will mistake friendliness and care with "she smiled at me and touched my arm, therefore, she wants to jump my bones."

=Women tend to forget the fact stated above and still become angry when men respond to the former's so-called "advances."

=Bed time is when your eyes get droopy because of fatigue and you commence slurring, like this, "I thing am shlippy."

There are two states of being single

Being single and Apathetic means there are no possibilities.

Being single and Optimistic means everyone is a possibility. So how does one filter out everyone to narrow it down to a few?

1. Attraction- There must be some kind of relative attraction. By relative, I mean, cute to you, not to your friend, not to your mother, but to you. You should think he/she is attractive.

2. Intelligence- You must be on the same level/wavelength.

3. Humor- Relationships do not thrive on oochie koochies and sweet (puke-worthy) nothings alone. You gotta laugh, even if there's no reason to.

4. Orientation- Male/Female/Sways from one side to the other. Your choice.

5. Age- Ten years younger, five years older, sky's the limit. Sometimes, the older they are, the more immature they become; the younger they are, the more likely they are smartasses. It's all relative.

Ok, I am trying really hard to come up with a good list. I was thinking about this on my way to the bathroom (yes, wanting to pee can also be thought-provoking). Who am I kidding? I'd rather be Apathetic. It's easier this way. Being single only sucks when you're the fifth wheel (that's me) and you go out to dinner and everyone is spoonfeeding each other and making the sounds babies make when they have to take a crap.

Being single gets better when you're the fifth wheel (me, again) and all your coupled friends are damn-near-miserable because they should have stayed single in the first place.

*Smirks to self*

Apathy is bliss.

Finally, some peace and quiet

Today, I am calm. Calm as a cat on Prozac. I believe, for the most part, that I am an optimist. For the most part. Part of what, I don't know. It's just that I am.

On the downside, though, I am easily influenced by what my family says, the (sometimes stoopid) advice my friends give me, and the little person in red who sits on my left shoulder. In the end, I'm confused, bitter, and indecisive. So, there goes part of the most part of my being an optimist.

Mom says that, out of her four children, I am like water. I roll where the waves will take me, never against the current. This is also true, but again, only for the most part. I do, at times, tend to steer clear of the tsuanamis or chaotic storms, and more often than not, I resist going with the flow (until I realize that there is no better way than to ride with the waves).

My resolutions haven't materialized and there is no justification. I am still trying to say good-bye to Mr. Procrastination, which is hard, because, like I said, good-byes suck.

I have, however, continued reading the books I've set aside for so long. Two are love stories and one is Friendship with God. I also have to start The Poems of Robert Frost. This, to me, is progress. My routine, which went on quite well last year, was broken by changes that I whole-heartedly accomodated. One that I've tried keeping is the constant communication with CBF, because it's just the best part of my work day, and she's very good at making me laugh when I'm losing my mind. The newest addition has been the (almost) daily conversations with Pecker; he's also very good at making me laugh (even without intention).

Mom is still standoffish. I hope I will be able to wear her down, maybe take her shopping or drinking or something.

All in all, I am calm today. I only pray that it will last longer than it usually does. Sometimes, it takes a minute quirk of over-analysis to take me off course (right, LH? HMPH!).

Monday morning

We, my Sis, Mom and I, spent the weekend in Palm Springs. Sis attended the prom with her boy friend and Mom and I spent the rest of Saturday night shopping. We're ok, now, which is very good. The road trip gave me time to re-evaluate my life- where I am, where I'm going, blah blah blah.

There are several things that I've put off for the past couple of months and I've decided to go back to my usual competitive self.

1. I will go back to school and obtain my Masters degree. Ugh. More studying. I'm in the "process" of transferring to another school and I've procrastinated long enough.

2. I will go ahead and tell Mom that she can get her house next year. I'll do everything it takes, ok, maybe not everything. I still have the CC to pay off, but I'll take care of that next month.

3. I will go to the gym every single day. (This one makes me laugh, but I figured that if I write it down somewhere, maybe I'll actually get to it.)

...And, with these in my pocket, I begin the week.

Last night

...I heard a maybe and it went something like this:

Pecker: ...and ace my Math exam next week
Pecker: and maybe go to Cali after that
DA: maybe?
DA: you mean not sure?
Pecker: yeah
DA: o...k
DA: i will just have to work on my waiting disease

What? A maybe? I wanted to whine, "what do you mean 'maybe'?" But I didn't. I left it at that and immediately tucked away Excitement and Anticipation and my little itinerary.

I have heard one-too-many maybe-s in my life. It's as if I were five and I aksed my parents if they were going to throw me a birthday party with the blow-up castle thingy that my friends and I could bounce around in, and Dad nonchalantly replies with "maybe."

Well, I am more than nonchalant. I am aloof now. I know what maybe-s are like. Maybe-s mean 50-50, unsure, kinda changing my mind, set your self up for disappointment. This time, I will spare myself the grief of Maybe's outcome, because I don't care anymore.

I don't take this against him, because I am fully aware of the possible hindrances to the trip. And I'm cotent that we're even able to talk every night. Priceless, he said.

However, I will secretly mope this weekend because I have every right to. I will ponder the maybe a little more and beat myself over the head with it.

Why?
Because maybe-s suck!

Another vow to thy self (because I am not making any sense)

I'm starting to hate talking about relationship angst, because every time I open my mouth, I fall into a pit. It's a tough lesson to learn. Too bad it took me a couple of days before I finally got it.

I've never really been good at tip-toeing around issues. I am painfully, and sometimes hilariously, honest about everything. Mom says that I shouldn't be so transparent, but I do believe this is the best part of who I am. So, this explains why, in the past three weeks, I have found myself sleeping in the dirt of the hole that I've been digging.

I reluctantly admit that I am unsure about a lot of things, such as where I'm going in life and what I'll be doing tomorrow. And this may be the best place I should be, at the moment, where the senses decide my fate. Ironically, the only thing that I am sure about has become a burden of bearing the truth that I have forbid myself to disclose. So, I will continue to tip-toe and skirt and evade any possible undertakings that this truth might lead me to. I will pretend that I am who I'm really not. I will be semi-transparent, and pass out every now and again whenever the truth is almost half-exposed. Half of me knows it's obvious. My other half is still trying to pretend that it's not.

I've been out of the loop too long.

Shit happens

I just called Mom to apologize for being such an arse on Sunday. I am on the verge of bawling. I'm glad I am at work.

I think I will eat a pack of Mlights before I go home. Maybe the nicotine will make me queasy enough to disable my brain from farting info to my mouth where I spit out the bullshit that gets me in trouble.

I only had a bite of the tiny brownie I picked up for lunch. Then, Mr. So and So came over to my desk and offered me a cookie. Half of it is mush in my tummy now. I'm still trying to figure out what to do with the other half. I deserve to gain a pound today because I am a terrible person.

There are several things I have learned from my being a certified Dumbass:

1. I should hone my acting skills. I should always be happy, even when I am not.
2. Keep my mouth shut, especially about Trade Secrets that I only share with IR and girl buddies.
3. Keep building that wall, brick after brick, emotion minus emotion.
4. Freaking out is a skill, not a reaction.

Mental note: Check self into nearest mental institution to save family and friends the anguish of dealing with a pathetic excuse of an independent woman/biatch/brat.

Bog Bog Bog

That is the sound of my head being banged against the wall.

Somebody, hit me with a beak or something.

And it went something like this

Dumbass (DA): And I know when a guy is planning to make the moves. It's so obvious.
Pecker: What if he tells you something you don't wanna know?
DA: There is nothing I don't wanna know. Only rule is to never expect.
Pecker: Good rule.
DA: (Thinks to self.) Doh! Gobble gobble gobble! (This is me eating words.)

Bow.

Tonight, I will sleep with my head under the pillows, hoping to not wake up tomorrow.

So there! Bear witness to my peg at stupidity, of not owing it to myself to keep my mouth shut.
Of being indestrcutibly smart.

Good grief.

Eating words

Tonight, the first night ever, I ate my words right after I spit them out. That is a record. And I was totally caught off guard.

Tonight, I also learned that there is serenity in keeping my mouth shut. If I had done so, in the first place, maybe my tummy wouldn't hurt so much.

And there's a sad truth in expectation- that you may get what you want or you get what you don't want. Either way, I'm a little scared to find out which one will be thrown at me.

And maybe you're right, Pecker, it might be a sign to sleep on it.

Sunday morning

I realized that I have a special way of not listening to my Mother during the Bitching of our daily conversations. I usually hasten my pace, if we're walking, or wear my stone-cold I-don't-care-why-are-you-telling-me-this expression while I look away and focus on anything but what she's saying.

I know it's a terrible thing to do. And I feel like the worst daughter in the world, but I don't find sense in listening to the fucking pitfalls of love when I already think that marriage is a bunch of bullshit fed into all little girls' brains the moment we realize that boys have protrusions. At this rate, I firmly uphold that boys have cooties and they will eventually screw you over.

Sometimes, I wish I were a kid again. She didn't give as much detail when I was kid, but I think it would be better if she had gotten all that over with when I was four. I'm sure that at that age, I wouldn't have a clue to what she was saying. (If I were six and she poured her heart out to me, I would be going to therapy by now.) After twenty-three years, I address my own mental issues without seeking medical help because my childhood wasn't scarred or overly-emotional or traumatizingly suicidal. Now, there is no one to blame but myself. And I have the right to filter the information entering my system, because the more I listen, the more it hurts.

I treasure the moments Mom and I have together. Though, I would rather talk about things like "when it rains, imfors."

Saturday at work

Last night, Pecker called while I was driving. The calculated time block for his anticipated, yet unexpected call was occupied by an extra thirty minutes at the fabric store. That was Mom's idea, which was fine, but I cut shopping short so that I could rush home- it was already 12 a.m. in Canada.

We talked for three hours, which I haven't done since high school. To think, I asked my little sis a few weeks ago what in the world she and her boy friend could talk about on the phone for three hours. I'm still not sure what the answer to that question is because I can recall only bits and pieces of my conversation with Pecker. I'm a little relieved, though, that I didn't bring up the trip again. (He's flying down mid-May and crashing at our place. I've never had a boy sleep over, ever, be it boy friend or just plain friend. There was this one time when IR stayed at my house until 4 a.m., but all we did was talk. So, that's not considered a sleep over.) Everytime we talk about the trip, my patience is tested. I begin to wonder what kind of a miracle it would take to jump from April to the end of May in a millisecond. I have decided that there's only so much I can do to plan the whole thing, from the meeting at the airport to the places I will take him. There is this fear in not trying to control everything, but I figure that it's for the best.

I awoke with a hangover this morning, which slowed me down a bit. But since the cause wasn't due to alcohol, I knew it was okay. Before heading to work, I finally tried on the "pick Pecker up at the airport" shirt. Not so nice. I will have to go back and find something more suitable, or at least something that fits right. I also found out that he doesn't like yellow, which is another good reason to return the shirt. You can't blame me. First impressions last.

I know that I have much experience with good-byes at the airport. This does not make things better for me. It only means that I know how dreadful it is. And every time I step into one, I will either feel the tiny little buggers jump with glee in my heart or wince in pain because, no matter what anybody tells you, good-byes suck.

And with this, my patience is stretched. And when I finally get to that block of time, I will wish for it to last a little longer, even though I know it will go by in a millisecond.