Sometimes

"[Memory is] a man's real possession...In nothing else is he rich, in nothing else is he poor." - Alexander Smith (1830 - 1867)

I got that from Perrin.

Sometimes, in the quietest of moments, I have no sense of the present time. Yesterday, I had a flashback of my ex-boy friend's room, as if it were still 1990-something. I felt that I was laying on the floor, looking up at the ceiling. I still recalled where the wallpaper yellowed and began to peel and how strangely familiar it felt to be there. I remember what I was feeling at that time- kind of calm and unknowing. LL wasn't there with me. I was alone. It was neither a good memory nor a bad one. It was just that- a memory, a reminder of how far I've come.

Sometimes, we just know that there are certain places we'll never go back to. When we look back, we don't remember how people looked or what they said; we only remember ourselves, how we felt, what we were thinking. It gives us a better perspective of where we are now.

Other times, I'm back on Banawe, walking home with my sister because all the jeepneys were full. I can feel the sun scorching my hair, my forehead is oily and sticky from the heat, and my feet are aching. I'm carrying the heavy workload from school, my college textbooks are nestled in my left arm, the bag on my right.

I thought of so many things back then. I couldn't wait till I was in college, I wondered what it would be like when I was finally independent, how it would feel to be driving my own car.

Now, I just wonder what it's like to go home early and pretend to relax, to not even wonder at all.

Finances

Ok, so right now, I really want to shoot something.  I would say someone, but I'm not angry.  I just want to shoot a can or a tire or a computer.  I am 3 steps away from being financially stable.  Three being the number of credit cards I have left to pay off.  First on the list is my VS card.  Damn store!  All pink.  I hate that color, but I found myself spending hours there for days at a time.  Stupid card is evidence of how much I've spent on stupid skivvies.   Ok, not stupid, but cute skivvies.  Next one is my Mastercard and then my Visa.  I will burn these plastic blood-suckers that I carry in my wallet and stick to the good-ol' green.  I have money put away in my 401k every paycheck and I have set aside money for the trip back to Mtl and for when The Boy Friend visits.  Smart, eh?  This also means less shopping, no extra shoes (aaaahhhhhhh!), tons of gym time (yeah-fucking-right) so that I will always fit into my jeans.  There will be another pot for a consolidated Savings Account with my bros and sis and money left over for bills.
 
I'm thinking out of my nose, I know, but, somehow, this should work.  It's working right now.  As for The Big Project, we might have to hold that off till the end of the year. 
 
I'm not stressed.
 
Now, if I only had a gun or bat or not-so-white wall that I could bang my head into.

Indispensible

Ok, so I woke up at 5 this morning.  This sudden time-change is doing willies for my not-coming-to-work-on-time thing.  The Boy Friend and I have only spoken a total of 2 1/2 hours since he got back, and he's been home for 3 days.  That's not much talkin', if you ask me.  So the weirdest thing is that we have to chat online during the day just to catch up and it feels like I'm not even talking to him.  I mean the REAL him.  It's so different when I hear his voice on the phone.  As cruddy as his new work sched is, he gets to visit me on the weekends instead of in the middle of the week, which helps me, too, because I don't have to take too many days off.  Boss1 might have a fit because I'm in love with a Canadian, which results in days off because I absolutely will not work while he pines (hehe) for me at home whenever he comes down to visit me.  Boss2 told me that when I was gone on Friday there were questions no one could answer except for me.  I told him I was only gone for a day.  "A day is too long," he says.  I think that is sweet, how every so often, they make me feel indispensible.  And how intrigued they are about this guy I'm actually taking time off for.  That the person they always considered a little girl actually has a Boy Friend and not some screensaver of Owen Wilson in Starsky & Hutch that comes on when I take smoke breaks.  I told Boss1 that Owen was my boy friend once, and he almost cracked up.  Instead, he just smirked, said "oh," and walked back into his office.

The second visit

I'm a bit sleepy. I woke up at 4:30 this morning, tossed and turned for a good 45 minutes and finally gave up to get ready for work. I am way passed being mushy, more like in a state of shock. I think that's the way it is whenever we part. Things don't sink in until I leave. We drive to the airport in a hurry, we don't talk about saying good-bye. I never cry. We know how the script goes. He gets home, I call, things are back to normal. So why does it feel like it gets harder every time?

I should know that this is how long-distance relationships go. I should. But I don't. I've never been through this before. I've never had someone with whom I could meet halfway without gagging or thinking twice. It was always someone else trying to go the distance and me running and screaming in the opposite direction or it was someone I relentlessly tried to hold on to as he poked me in the eye and stabbed me in the chest. I never really let things happen naturally as I do now.

No, I haven't lost it. Little sis's boy friend says that he's never seen this side of me before. I wonder which side this is. I'm neither vaguely insulted nor apprehensive. I'm curious though and a bit worried. Little sis impersonated me last night. Shit. Am I that lifeless and grouchy? Even Mom said the only time I smile is when The Boy Friend is around. Not true! Or is it? Does being in love really change a person?

Blech. I think that is a bunch of crock! I'm not mushy all the time. It still makes me sick. Although, I have resorted to naming my stuffed toys, Henry Pecker, the cutie patootie Canadian beaver, being the first, I don't think I'm as hopeless as that. Or even that I've got it that bad. Whatever it is. Freakin A! I may be in love but I haven't changed. Damn it! I'm still the grouchy bitch I've always been.

LOL.

Now, I think I've lost it. Oh well. For those who think I've done a 360, I hope Henry Pecker bites you on the ass while you sleep!

Responsibility

I'm starting to think that I'm a little too responsible for someone my age.  Really, now.  I'm not exaggerating this or being overdramatic about it either.  I just find that my freedom to get up and go doesn't really exist.  Not that being with my family is a burden, but I think that I started Life a little too early.  Or maybe it's because I've been programmed to think that being irresponsible is the greatest sin.  Sometimes, I just want to save money and travel.  Screw mortgages and 401k's.  I still have seven years to start all of that.  Or maybe I don't. 

What ticks me off is that some people don't understand (i.e. parents) that I need time to be alone so that I can actually take in all the major changes in my life.  The moment I begin to withdraw from certain situations, only for about 30 minutes a day, so that I can breathe a little, I am automatically the BAD DAUGHTER.  Why are you so impolite?  Why are you so rude?  Why do you act this way?  Why do you show that blah blah is a burden?

Ugh.  Instead of continuing this with statements like, "What the fuck do you want me to say?  Do I look like fucking superwoman?  Does it seem like I'm supposed to be able to handle every fucking thing that comes along with a fucking smile on my face?  Can't I be alone sometimes without having to feel guilty about it?  Can I not think and analyze life for a couple seconds?  Can I just be happy where I am and worry about tomorrow when tomorrow comes?"  I suck it in.  I remind myself how blessed I am.  I thank God and apologize for the terrible thoughts.  I smile and nod and nod again.  I walk to my room, pick up the phone, and complain to The Boyfriend.  He will make me laugh.  And the next day, I'm ok again.

Unfuckingbelievable.

Next week

I had lunch today with Qball.  I want to hurl.  I ate too much.  The food was good, but I've been adding salt to most of my meals lately.  I recently went back to the gym, because I'm starting to look like a marshmallow again.  I actually like it and look forward to it everyday now. 
 
Yesterday, I was talking to Francis while on the treadmill and I damn-near fell off.  He might be able to come visit next week, which is great.  I guess we'll somehow find a way to do this commute thing, trying to bridge the distance.  It's an effort well-worth taking.  While being stuck at the train yesterday afternoon, a co-worker of mine told me, "I was thinking of getting a good inexpensive car, but I figured, it's time for me to get something I deserve.  I look back and I don't regret it.  Sometimes, saving money isn't worth much when you lose something else in the end."  Something to that extent.  It was all pretty fragmented, but that's what he meant.  So, even if this is going to get somehow expensive, minus the phone calls because I have a really good Canada Unlimited plan, I won't miss the money as much as I miss him everyday.  And my dear friends tell me I deserve him (contrary to my personal belief).
 
This all seems pretty effortless, not until we start thinking about it, or he starts to worry.  I'm pretty calm, which has led my friends to believe that I am currently taking medication.  I am usually the one who freaks out and over-analyzes everything.  Funny, but I don't find the need nor the urge to do that anymore.
 
-----------
 
It's Friday afternoon and I'm stuck at work.  Stuck because I woke up late, got here late, all because I was fidgeting with my new phone last night.

The future

Tonight, we had another talk. About our future. How he sees it. How I see it. He worries, I wonder. That is the difference. I worry for ten minutes and then fall asleep.  He worries about tomorrow.  I worry more when he worries. Of course I do. I am the best worrier I know.  Surprisingly, I haven't worried much in our relationship.  To me, everything will work out in due time.

I'm not angered by his lack of faith in us.  That's a normal response to a situation such as ours. Being 3000 miles apart is never easy and it's not as if things are going to get any easier.  Every moment we spend together makes it harder to be apart.

It's the influence that bothers me.  I mean, so far, the response that I've gotten from my friends has been uniquely positive.  Most of them start off like this, "Finally!  Woman, I thought you were really going to grow old by yourself."  As if that were impossible.  For the longest time, I wanted to be alone for the rest of my life.  No complications.  No one to deal with except for myself; but, then, he came along.  Cheesy, I know, but it's the truth.  Anyway, I always used to wonder why there were love songs where the guys would tell their girl friends not to listen to their friends.  Now I know.  I don't condemn opinions, but they just don't matter to me.  I know I've been through enough to know the difference between an asshole, a future-asshole, and a good guy.  Francis is a good guy.  He pretty much proves it everyday.  Imagine having to deal with my crap every night.  And he stays up late for it too. 
 
So, I figure, future-asshole or not, he's one to hold on to.  The future is too far away for me to even worry about.

To Francis

Because we're lucky...

I am your companion; I am your friend. You'll never catch sight of my back, unless we're spooning. I am your hug-giver and kiss-taker. I always hold your hand and lean on your shoulder. I rest my head on your chest and smile when the sun goes down. I laugh at your jokes when they are funny and give you a hard time when they're not. I talk to you about everything that my brain can comprehend and call your bluffs to keep you in line. I never question your worth nor doubt your intention. With you, I am calm and content. Fate isn't as scary as I thought, because it somehow led me to you. You will never lose me because I will never let you go.

And there is nothing I would change because I love every part of you.

Love in installments

Ok, so I've been gone for a week. I was in Montreal just yesterday. The week went by just right. Time did not stand still; it flowed with the steady progress, each moment newer than the next.

Francis met me at the airport, after two long delays. I did not lose my patience that day, but anticipated my own arrival. I had expected a scene, not so dramatic, but marked nonetheless. As he approached, I looked at the face I said good-bye to just three weeks prior. We kissed, and I made him do it twice, held hands and walked to the car. I was at a pause, quiet for the first few minutes, tired from the trip, overwhelmed and comfortable, at peace to be in his presence.

The first few hours passed in observation. I was in Montreal, not Orange County. I could not go about my own business in my hurried fashion, thinking three thousand things at once. I could only sit and watch him walk across the room in his house, adjust the reception of the TV, his glasses propped on his nose as he occassionaly turned to look at me. I sat in a semi-awkward position, not knowing which way to move or how. My voice was a mere whisper, not the usual loud squeak and goofy giggle. With no thought required, I finally found my place, facing him as he faced the TV, talking in my animated fashion, arm wrapped around his. And I knew I was home.

The first day was good, a soft breeze blew as we walked the half-empty streets of St. Catherine. I didn't care too much for the landmarks or the restaurants and coffee shops. I didn't care about how the sun shone and heated the otherwise chilly city. I only knew I was holding his hand and he was with me and there was nothing more that I needed. The four hours I spent alone were long. I did my walking, my own exploring, my initial spending, my people-watching, my coffee-drinking and chocolate indulgence. I did all this and waited, because there was no contentment in my belonging until I knew he was within arm's reach. And so everyday was like this: good to be on vacation, but better when we were together.

We did what we became accustomed to. We sat on the same side of the table no matter where we went. I always lean in a little closer, though there is no space between us, so that when the urge to kiss him comes, I don't waste a second. We like to sit on couches and talk about nothing, laugh about everything. Our humor is good and well-driven; it is the constant reassurance that we'll be fine under any cirucumstance. (That because I love you now, I will love you no matter what.)

I miss the way he circles my knee with his finger while we watch movies at home. I ask him every night if he's sleepy and he always says, "No, I'm ok," but he'll yawn while his glasses begin to slip. I love the way he smiles and buries his face below where my collar bone and my shoulder meet. He smells like warm tea and cologne, warmer when we kiss. I love the way his arms naturally take my form. His hand finds mine no matter where we are and we refuse to let go even if walking hand-in-hand requires extra balance or the turn of the steering wheel needs a special skill.

He brought me to St. Joseph's. We sat in the pew and I held his hand as we prayed. And it was good. There is nothing more I will ask for. In him, I have everything I need. I know his worth, more clear to me now than it ever could have been if we had met sooner. He is my blessing.

Yes, Francis, I have loved before, but this time, I love YOU.

And that makes all the difference.

My job and everything else that goes with it

The past week has been quite eventful, a few changes here and there. I realized that, although I am forever grateful, I need God in the good times as much as in the not-so-good. I never feel as if I'm deserving of much because my faults exceed my achievements. There is so much to comprehend and not enough time to get a grip. The greatest things in my life are right in front of me and all I can do is stand in awe. Ironically, I have learned that our worth is directly proportional to what we feel we deserve. When you believe that you deserve a good job, you get your shit together and you work for it. I've been running around like a chicken with its head cut off trying to get it together. The only problem is waking up...on time.

I am an expert at juggling, dropping the balls here and there, with some kind of balance. Work is work, I live with my family, and my social life consists of weekday dinners and daily conversations with Francis. At the end of the day, I am tired. As I usually find my solace in sleep, hauling my ass out of bed every morning has become a difficult task.

Although I consider myself somewhat ballsy, I find it hard to "request" for certain things I know I should be getting, such as the transition in my job. When discussions arise with my boss, for example, I usually just sit there and smile and nod my head. My common reply is "Ok, thank you." When I'm requested to do extra work, i.e. fill in at corporate, though I have work from here to Timbuktu, I say, "So as long as the boss says it's fine, I will be there." I have the tendency to go beyond expectations when I have to run around trying to get all the work done. (The consolation for all of this, and well-deserved, I believe, is being able to tell Francis about all of this every day.)

So, today (6/17/04) I am back at corporate, lending a hand. Boss2 said that I didn't have to go if I didn't want to, but I didn't want to say "no." When people ask for your help, you give it to them. If they didn't really need it, they would not have asked in the first place.

It is a good feeling when people express their appreciation for your work and effort.

It is a GREAT feeling when you see this appreciation in your paycheck.

All I have right now is a good feeling, which I can live with for the time being. Ick. And they said I was a pushover.

Things I don't give a crap about

Every time someone talks about marriage, I gag. Literally. I feel acid accumulate in my tummy, working its way up my esophagus. I am repulsed by the thought. Mom asked me the other night where I wanted to get married- the Philippines or here. What the? Does it look like I have really put much thought into it? Relationships, I can handle, no matter how tedious. Marriage is a whole other story. It's hard enough to deal with my own life, let alone tolerate someone else's. There isn't much room to move, to plan, to execute, when other people are trying to plan your life for you.

LH has a ring on hold.

FH knows where she wants to get married, what her motif will be, and where the reception will be. All she has to do is choose the lucky guy.

Qball is already planning hers. Ack.

My cousin is having his in September. Now, I have to buy a dress. Gah.

I went to the bank this evening and Mom calls calls me as soon as I park the car, "We need to talk." Oh shit. Here we go. It's about buying a house. Blah blah blah. Nod, nod, nod. The appointment will be set tomorrow.

What's the point in answering a question when you'll be emtionally tortured into submission anyway?

I hate being responsible; people hold you up to it for the rest of your life.

I want to go somewhere, very, very, very far away.

I HATE CUPID he is a TRAITOR

It’s been three days since he left. I miss him more than I thought I could, quite a bit more than I expected. And we were together only three days. Maybe it’s safe to say that all the waiting paid off, that all the anxiety and the last-minute cold feet were pointless. Yet, I am left speechless. My brain has failed to comprehend how my emotions have betrayed the rest of me. For the first time, there is only confession- where the truth has exposed the ins-and-outs, the dents-and-creases of everything I have guarded.

I am angry at myself, because this is not me, or so I thought. I’m mad because there’s no where left to hide. The only place I want to run is where he stands, so I may reach for his hand when I please, without thinking, because I know it will always be there. I’m mad because I didn’t plan this, that every step taken mocked my defenses. That when he speaks, I only listen with no urge for retaliation. That benches are now special places and beaches are nicer, no matter what the weather. That walking is no longer a burden, because I have him to lean on when my legs are tired. That crowds aren’t scary when I know where to find him. That I can say anything and he will laugh, even a little. That no matter how tired we are, he will smile and I will feel just fine. That I no longer care what people say when they ask how long till he comes back, or what do you plan for the future. That I’m not afraid even if I’m not sure; that tomorrow is far away, and every moment is a blessing. That I held him close and kissed him goodnight and hugged him when circumstance permitted. That he is on my mind when I wake, when I walk through the halls, when I drive home, when I eat, when I watch TV, when I sleep. That the only regret is seeing his back as I let him walk away.

I don't require the world to prove his worth, when all I need is him. Tomorrow will come and go, but I will put no quantity on the time spent, the conversations repeated, the waiting endured. I'm unsure and less fearful, more hopeful than most. And if the time comes when there is nothing left to hold on to (hopefully, prayers will prevent this), I will pray that he stumbles upon someone who will care about him as much as I do, and who will take care of him the way I would have.

And I will have it no other way than this.

(Sorry, Jacs, you must be gagging by now. IR, ick, I know. Fucking Cupid!)

Ahem

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Day Two

I was hungry, but didn't eat. I watched a comedy, but didn't laugh. I moped all day, from the moment his hands slipped from mine, as I watched him walk away. There are so many things left unsaid, and no room left for pretending.

There are no regrets.

And, from now on, I miss him.

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!).