And I think that blogging counts. Not that I have anything to say really. I just feel the need to write because talking to myself would most likely garner me a series of roundhouse kicks from my roommates. Anyhows, because my thoughts are rarely in order these days, I feel that it would be best if I used a human invention that is pure genius. Ladies, gentlemen and the rest of my imaginary audience, I shall now commence writing in bullet points.

• Eh. I really don’t get why they’re called bullet points. I mean, if they are named that way because they’re a system of killer dots that make poorly constructed sentences and pseudo-intellectual statements bleed to death after a nice ol’ game of Russian roulette, then I don’t think they deserve such a badass title.
• ^See, my point exactly.
• I have no idea why I’m functioning like this when I’m not even high on coffee or what-have-yous.
• I cannot sleep. Should I resort to getting a job at a taxi agency or whachamacallthose, work late night shifts for twelve hours straight and then go to a hole in the wall kind of cinema house where they only show porn and sell stale popcorn?
• I see a cold morning outside my window and now I’m trying to remember how that smells like. That would’ve never been a problem in the province.
• I forgot what I was planning for myself today. Did I even have a plan?
• This inexorable snowball of absurdity is gaining momentum but I think I’ll just laugh now.
• Almost done with tying loose ends. Who needs a rope and a scout’s skills in knotting when you have well-secured blinds?

(Source: lordawkward)

(Source: lordawkward)

i smiled but died a little inside at the same time. for some odd reason, remembering the man and his lectures just make me feel “at home” and nostalgic. suddenly, a montage of memories flood my mind: snapshots of my grade school days, field trips, unsupervised misadventures, etc. i could even smell the scent of my old textbooks all the way from here. 

i wish i didn’t cut that much :|

(Source: lordawkward)

(Source: lordawkward)

Sometimes, we need something dramatic and drastic to happen just so we’d actually see what’s going on. Anything that causes disruption in the midst of this normalcy, monotony and stoicism just so we’ll see a bit more clearly and be more aware of what the heck’s happening. Anything.

I mean, not to sound preachy and self-righteous or whatever but if he (or anyone) didn’t do anything sacrilegious or scandalous or obscene or what-have-you, would some of us care and stop to think twice about our country’s situation? I dunno about you but I wouldn’t. 

Thanks Carlos Celdran for moving me to give a rats ass. I wish my balls were as big as yours. Figuratively.

She has salt and pepper hair with streaks of a creamy shade of blonde which fall exactly on her shoulders.

She’s wearing a shirt two sizes bigger than her with the neckline and sleeves neatly cut off.

She has on a pair of invisible shorts and cowboy boots with one inch heels.

Her purple bag stands out from the neutral palette she chose for her drab.

And she’s smoking a pack of Marlboro Menthols while discussing business with her young male companion who’s most likely her son.

She is a portal to the future I have imagined.

A “post-middle-aged” woman still feeling young and looking upbeat.

She looks like whom I thought I wanted to be.

She’s cool, she’s rich, and at 55-ish, she still manages to look like a rockstar.

But seeing her changed my mind…

When I’m supposed to be old and wise and experienced, I don’t wanna look like someone who walked straight out of a Miley Cyrus music video.

I don’t want to dye my hair just cos I’m not happy with the white strands growing out of my head.

And I don’t want to look like someone who can’t let go of her youth because she can’t accept the fact that growing old is inevitable.

When you see me 37 years from now, I’ll be that old lady with short grey hair, wearing a paisley printed skirt that covers my bare feet.

I’ll be reading a book by my favorite “white-suit-wearing” author, sipping coffee from a cup with my misspelled name written on it.

I’ll be wearing the bracelets made by my kids back when they we’re learning arts and crafts in kindergarten.

I’ll be looking at the blue sky momentarily, asking myself why I thought about dying early when I was younger.

I’ll have wrinkles on my face and I’ll be proud of every single line and scar I have on my skin.

I’ll be old.

I’ll be happy.

I’ll be alive.

And I swear I won’t look like that cougar standing across the table where I’m writing this right now.

I’m finally done and one of the few nice things I got from this AMAAAZZZING experience is the “right” to say that CHEESECAKES FUCKING SUCK. I WILL NEVER EAT, LET ALONE LOOK AT ANOTHER CHEESECAKE EVER AGAIN. FUCK YOU CHEESECAKES, ETC. YOUR FUCKING LOGO IS FUCKING HIDEOUS AND THIS IS WHY I’M FUCKING DOING ALL THIS SHIT.

would you promise to be true

and help me understand

that I’ve been in love before

and I found that love was more

than just holding hands…

.

.

.

.

.

what?

I was kinda away from the dorm for at least half of this day. And for some odd reason, I felt free and happy. It’s been so long since I’ve felt that good and didn’t give a rats ass about everything else.

I told my Theology teacher that I was engaged when he asked if I were in a relationship of some sort. Loving my work counts, right?

I made a new friend today. Her name’s Rose and she works at FedEx. She likes to use the word “styrofoam” a lot.

I stayed for four hours in Starbucks today. Probably the longest time I spent there by myself. I’m going for ten next time.

I made a mental list of people whom I want to murder using a rusty chainsaw just for fun. Now I just need to loosen my screws so I can plead insanity.

I stepped on two puddles while hailing a ride home. God, I love the rain.

I went all the way to MoA with a couple of friends. The cab ride going back was fun though I think I may have said too much.

I smiled at random people. It’s great that they don’t know who and what I am really. They’d probably think I’m shitting them if they did.

I saw a lot of strangers going about the things they probably usually do on Mondays. I kinda wonder if they saw me too. And if they did, I wonder if they said the same thing about me.

I bet no one knows I’m in pain right now. I don’t talk about it. I wouldn’t even if you asked.

I’m back here again and something’s eating me up. I need a single serving friend, two cubes of sugar and a cup of coffee. Get me a bar of Snickers while you’re at it.