Back from my mom's abode and facing the pc again. It's not raining, but im shivering inside. Emotions that I cannot express are cartwheeling inside my chest and tummy. I want to laugh and cry at the same time. My fingers are stiff from these tumultuous feelings and my feet are cold.
I'm not the best partner in the world, I know. And certainly I'm not getting the "most romantic lover" award for the 2009. But when I love...I really love. And so when I hurt...I really get hurt.
I am scared to give myself wholly, he may not take care of it. I might be left with nothing when he leaves me. I anticipate rejection even before I open myself to the other. And all it takes is one serious mistake. One stupidity. One carelessness to burst my fantasy bubble. I always compare my relationships (be it romantic or not) to crystal glasses.When the glass breaks, you can always try to piece it up together...but it will never be the same. If it breaks, it breaks...and you get a new one.
I find it useless to risk cutting myself patching a sharp broken glass back together again...You cannot do it anyway...with tears in your eyes and numb fingers...with deafening silence that cuts your heart in two...what can you do with a tired soul and a bleeding heart? nothing. Not one useful thing.
Every time I tell friends that are not from Davao that fireworks are banned here, I always get a disbelief reaction.
Oh well, it might sound strange but severed fingers and appendages due to stupid miscalculation of whether "to throw now or not" and "to throw where" (the deym firework) is just not part of the party plan here.
We get zero dismembered limbs from judas belt -->one of the most powerful firecrackers I've heard of. If you are unfamiliar with it...it looks like a long belt with strings of small powder wrapped in a cute way. With more than a hundred cute packets of sulfur in a string that goes off endlessly once you've light it up.
It is quite obvious that the genius who made this type of "disaster" is familiar with the "domino effect". However, in this case, instead of pushing the dominoes, you light the firecracker...and so it goes until it ends. It won't stop to see if you have severed a finger or two... If you stupidly wrapped it in your neck for a fur-like effect, it won't pause to even look at your head blow off...and it might not even be over when your head hits the ground. It follows no other schedule aside from its own. It will not apologize for dismembering any part of your body. Chances are, it might sue you for being there and possibly softening its effect because it had to hit your appendage or head. It will not forgive anti-climax factors...like you. Holidays are supposed to be a blast...It frowns on such... If you are...you will suffer.
If you hate your life -- arrange it with this dude. He will gladly end it for you...festively...don't forget to shout merry chrismas, ok.
If you hate your life and your neighbor -- this dude will make sure your neighbor feels it...You blow yourself near the hated neighbors' yards...pieces of your flesh will go to their private spaces...and believe me, another sight of fresh meat will make them puke even if they change houses after. Who knows, your flesh, pound by pound...so fresh in their eyes, might turn them into eternal vegetarians...Fish may not be included in their future menu even. That is one point for you... Sad thing is...you can only do it once...well if you blow yourself piece by piece, maybe it is possible to do it alot of times...or you can gather all your enemies in one boat when you do it...make them eat ice cream...make sure they are licking it from their cones when you do this "blowing" thing. Open mouths is better than open yards right?
or plan a party...offer sushi. Hehe.
Ok. I will stop. This is morbid and I am smiling too much -- which is sick. Oh well...Merry Christmas everyone ^.^
I don't know how to love him. What to do, how to move him. I've been changed, yes really changed. In these past few days, when I've seen myself, I seem like someone else. I don't know how to take this. I don't see why he moves me. He's a man. He's just a man. And I've had so many men before, In very many ways, He's just one more. Should I bring him down? Should I scream and shout? Should I speak of love, Let my feelings out? I never thought I'd come to this. What's it all about? Don't you think it's rather funny, I should be in this position. I'm the one who's always been So calm, so cool, no lover's fool, Running every show. He scares me so. I never thought I'd come to this. What's it all about? Yet, if he said he loved me, I'd be lost. I'd be frightened. I couldn't cope, just couldn't cope. I'd turn my head. I'd back away. I wouldn't want to know. He scares me so. I want him so. I love him so.
good morning world. why did you wake me up? you could have at least left me alone for a few minutes. i want to go back to sleep and forget about the fact that i slept with a bruised part of my body plus my back hurts and a few places of my body is just plain sore. Despite the fact that my bed right now is big, cozy and in a state of disarray (to which I have no intention of arranging). I'm a mess myself -- tousled hair held in place by a ballpoint, hand with visible "paid" mark, sleepy face half painted in chocolate ice cream (becuase of "gluttonic" reasons hehe), and feet up in the air for no apparent reason. My shoulder hurts a lot from the position i was in when i was asleep and i kept on yawning that makes my nose grow big. sheesh. talk about major mutation. I morphed into something my mother would call "a disaster"... or is it "hopeless" ... i think i remember her saying I'm born "a disaster" and I've mastered the sophistication of being "a headache" -- what can i say? --patience is a virtue, the main virtue that regulate mothers and their impulses to choke their children in their height of tantrums. I'm sensitive though. I may not be emotional sometimes but a good drama flick can make me soggy -- someone dies in the movie and i bawl. I connect. I try to not disturb people (except for very few close ones). I seldom contradict (unless you're really asking for it). I sympathize. and lastly, i'm nobody's pain in the ass except for those people who loves me. *smiles.
What a way to go. He couldn't have picked the best time... It is perfect. Everybody is celebrating the dead. He instantly becomes a celebrant. But is it worth celebrating? A friend expires and we are left behind with nothing but memories of him. Memories that are not even accurate. Memories to be visible only in words as we write and talk about an expired friend. no...expire is demeaning. retired would be a suitable word. or is it?
death is as common as can be. everyobody I know is always related to someone dead. We, ourselves are going that way...But it still sends shivers everytime I am informed of a death, especially of a loved one. Confronted with this reality, we tend to question our mortality. We look for ways to validate the fact that we are living the life we want. or the life we thought we want.
*Sigh. suddenly, just knowing we wont see him again, instantly I immediately want to see him. Pathetic. Pathetic and too late. Does he know that I see him special? Does he know I see him as a good friend?
the answer holds no value now.... ---right? questions and answers are for people who can question and answer...I wish the opposite though, but that would mean, we'd have to bring him back to life... please -- find someone who can arrange.
Solvent overdose of the year. a mixture of rugby, thinner, and paint --- sniffed to the highest level --- resulted to a salon cruise that involved threading and perm.
Martin and I started painting the office. We felt creative that day... Too creative perhaps... If there is one thing I have learned so far -- it is the fact that being high may result in unwanted hair perm.
The paint. White and sticky. It came in the form of a gallon of stuff that just wont stop from trickling to our elbows when all we wanted was for it to stick the wall.
**We were left to our own devices and thus painted our way to destroying the already-in-shambles-studio.
mission number one. status: over and done with drip.drip.drip --- while singing I have two hands.
The bottles of thinner. Clear liquid used by people who doesnt know what they are doing. Primarily used to clean up various indescribable mess on the floor.
Mission two status: partly accomplished. Requirement: you must love the art of stooping. NOt reccomended for people who are in the dying age.
The Mafia Boss -- the rugby. sticky white goo that smells so strong that your spirit just fly out of you. Caution: is alive!!!! Mision three a.k.a. Mission Impossible status: it's complicated
Carpet has not been installed yet. And so covered with paint, martin and I decided to create another fiasco -- and in our little hands is the bottle of rugby and on the floor, the black carpet laid to be exploited... Little did we know...that would be the icing on top of the cake.
Without further ado, let me confirm your suspicions-- yes, you are right, we struggled to paste it on the floor...oh yes we did...in a very bad way... Its like teaching grandma the pretzel.Mission number three--- is mission impossible times three.
Skills gained: at the end of the day, we have practically perfected the technique of smelling through our ears.
After Effects The rugby smell was so strong we got knocked out so bad that resulted to an even more mess that resulted to the towing of my beast as suggested by my mechanic because he just couldn't make "Colonel" roar back into life in the office parking lot. The painting took a week and my truck was dead for almost a week also. he was trying to resuscitate for five days already. He said, the beast needed to be taken to his shop. Nobody said being a Laborer is really a labor...sheesh
What could have happened? All I remember is that Martin and I were in the car wanting to go home. The next thing I remember, I was in the office couch the next morning and my car is not starting.Don't ask me, your guess is as good as mine.
Other damages HAIR -aside from the dead brain cells due to solvent inhalation
I was so stressed with the fact that my beast has no life and has to be towed that I made the wrong decision of stepping into THE salon -- insisting that i get a perm.
The lady said no. I should have listened. Shyet.
Huhu...but anyways...crying over spilled milk is useless. I'm determined to be happy about this...and I will be! drat - Lalalala!
oh...and yes... I am now officially not straight... no, not that way, pervert.
