April playlist - happy tunes. Steering clear of sad songs, which means I have to skip every other item in my ipod 'til I've got nothing else to listen to but your silence. Growing increasingly violent like the waves of days past.

Mid-April will be hectic. Got to get my shit together and move on with life. Work will be great aid to forgetting, and so will new projects here and there - if I ever get started, that is. I need to read, write, eat, sleep, among a lot of other things, yes. 

Ah, fuck this. I'm listening to The Perishers on the way to work.

Finding a way around the blocked sites in the office is not helping me with my daily outputs. Today, I spent an entire afternoon combing through “Ringo Have a Banana” supposedly only in search of Alex’ name. Found out too late that instead of extinguishing this impossibly huge fire made of invisible fuel, I am obligingly throwing myself in. Sacrificing myself to the gods in the form of a roasted pig.

The other day, Nicole traveled to my station (highly likely being that we’re only two seats away) and we hung out at Alex’ flickr for the entire day. Moping around, dreaming of Manhattan, Brooklyn, New York, New York! Mocking other people’s lives as rubbish (being that they do not work the normal 8-hour shift), while mourning our own minuscule existences because we are not artistes and we do not have weekend backyard barbecues and Friday night gigs, and because we do not drink beer from the can and we do not have rents to pay on a monthly basis or a New York flat for that matter, because we cannot play around our cameras long enough to take good shots of roaming ducks and cabins in the outskirts of Washington, because we do not go to Copenhagen or New Mexico for the weekend and take vintage grainy photographs of each other with a backdrop of ashes – the reflection of our ghostly dreams. I am hopeless.

And yet, there is hope in hopelessness: the promise of years yet to arrive (albeit being fashionably late). One day; someday. That’s my adage. And tonight, I’ll say it to myself over and over like a mantra ‘til I succumb to sleep and dream some more.

Which should I do first:

• read (still on the 11th page of The Castle)
• write (and get published)
• draw (finish artworks)
• play the piano (without having to go back to classes)
• live

The problem with getting back on track, I realized, is where to start when there isn't a track to get back to.

It's 3 am and I am widely awake. Checked my mail and was bowled over to see a message from an old professor. One I looked up to since I was a doting freshman. One whose stories (one in particular about secondhand smoking) I memorized and delivered while I washed the dishes in the apartment (much to Chase's and the girls' dismay).

The message was short and simple. I got kiliged over the greetings: Dear Writer. Then plummeted downwards since. He, along with other UP professors, is compiling some of the alumni's published works. He was hoping "I have something for this call."

Yup. Just about enough to put me on a dismal disposition.

not again

An entire day and a few more hours away from closing the first month of this god-forsaken year, and already I can hear The Weepies singing. Not, in any way, a glorified chorus congratulatory of my achievements: having read 5 books, having gone this long without squandering money on clothes or on fattening myself, and having the audacity to reach the end of January alive. But monotonous – a first-rate mimic of an elegy.

After a series of years to which Not Your Year is my deathless anthem, it’s finally getting on my nerves. And if I find it in me to be bold, I just might do something about it.

today today today

• An entire day spent on Thought Catalog.
• Wallowing, weeping, wonderful. With The Perishers on the background, it’s even more beautiful.
• Wallowing is sex for depressives. Personally, I wouldn’t know but Winterson said so. And like a loyal fan, I believe her.
• This morning, my father asked me not to get my hopes up. Embassy’s withholding our passports 'til god knows when. I might miss HK. I wanted to throw a tantrum. But I nodded instead.
• Got a call from Nikko. Re: Ontario.
• Conjured up a couple of plans to keep me from leaving. Not a single one seems plausible.
• But, it made me feel a little better.

a shallow whine

Got a get well soon gift – a bag of chocolate truffles.

Why are people so insensitive!