Travel Diary

I had myself a bit to drink last night. Now, I wake up dehydrated, groggy and arguably not in the best of moods to welcome a day involving a lot of light. Oh gods of the intertropical convergence zone! Aid me!

Monday though dawns with a better note: the project I was asigned to has come to an end and with it go the involvement of people possessing all the mental acuity of a kiwi fruit. Although I can say that everyone was a complete moron (I am no exception, I suspect but this would have to do more with personal tragedies) . This doesn't mean that some of them had not other "redeeming" qualities that could endear them to me. Anyway, though my heart is light, my steps sprightely, and my mind's eye wide open to the vista spread before me, I cannot help but take one look back at an experience at best can only be described as... interesting. To Sheila, pretty you may be but prettier you CAN be if you find it in yourself to grasp the inner tramp and WORK it... To Michelle, anger no matter how tightly bottled will still let off steam... To Kat, no amount of emotional buffering can take you that far-- sometimes you just need to let things go, take them as they are, and free yourself from the inertia you find yourself in... and lastly, to Amalie. I don't know what mysterious dynamic propels us but I like the scenery so far. :) I have never worked with a noisier pack of bitches in my life. Your high-pitched screams will always be music to my ears, girls.

There ends an era for me and though the future may not promise a journey without the occasional eyesore and vehicular accident, may the destination not just be worth it in the end but so be my journey.

C/Raven

I find myself, even after all these years, unable to face my past mistake. It may not be the greatest, but it is the one that continues to unman me even today. Guilt has been a bird on my shoulder, pecking away at my heart. I do not know for how long I can continue like this: a man maimed by his own doing, I live in a place full of mirrors, showing me what I have done. Such ruthlessness can only be reserved for Greek tragedies. Or comedies, even! It verges on the laughable (Although at times I have suspected it has crossed it, doubled back and circled again!)... I can only see one way out but it frightens me to think of a future without regret. Perhaps after everything, that is the only thing I have possessed?

Smooth and Definitely EASY

I had gotten home at around ten o' clock in the morn and found myself waking up on the couch (ouch!) five hours later with a few parts "mysteriously" sore. And before anyone tries to try their hand at the hazards of guessing, let me make it easy by saying that it's my upperback muscles. I'm afraid, left to your own devices, one would have surmised at the point of injury as to somewhere farther south but then, I digress. >:)

One lesson learned: Though alcohol unzips many a tongue and fly, it is by no means Viagra. Heh heh.

Prodigal Curiousity

Hello Unseen Reader. I have been quite remiss in updating this "beloved" journal of mine. I can only feel shamed and a bit put-upon as events of such size and shape have managed to monopolize me for their own. With that said, on with the details:

I haven't taken leave of my company. A shock truly, to some but more so to me. I have been enlisted to participate in a project whose limited shelflife magnifies, nay, aggravates one's particular action into something "life-threatening". T'was two weeks that were promised, and a merry way I would have gone had not the venture contained a personality whom I am uncommonly fond of: a friend in need makes for a highly effective blackmailer indeed. No doubt about it. So, saddled as I am, I take upon a load though not made of straw still promises a few spinal injuries and the occasional slipped discs. Two months now they say and I look quite eagerly to my emancipation. Too often have I allowed myself to be waylaid by my (frequent) passing distractions and woebegone good intentions.

A little pruning is at hand and I am quite handy with sharp objects, heh heh.

The Daily Grind Crushes Yet Another

I hate working. And though this may sound like a familiar song, it may just be a different one (but from the same songwriter). I hate chipping away at something that's neverending. Like rolling a boulder all the way to some Godforsaken hilltop only to wake up the next day with the SAME THING going on again. I hate thinking about existence because, in my all-consuming human conceit, I'd still like to believe we're built for better stuff. I hate slaving away just so I could tell myself that a job's all there is to it. The all-mighty currency, that golden ticket to having a life a bit better than that of a pauper. As a beggar, you submit to the kindness (however arbitrary) of strangers. If not, there's always exploitation. With being a working stiff, you submit yourself to something even crueller than kindness-- the caprice of your "superiors". I'd like to believe that people would like to be better people in the end but the office place is a harsh teacher. I feel like a maggot working away at a carcass. Wait. A maggot has a better stand in the "grand" scheme of things. I feel "trivialized". Worse, I feel soiled. Perhaps it is foolish to subscribe to lofty notions but I feel as if I've been doing myself this great disservice staying, hanging on, this long. Perhaps a timely bath is in order. A purging. A cleansing...

Someday, I hope to get this nasty aftertaste off of my tongue.

The Last Man

It's a strange feeling: finding yourself the only customer left inside an internet cafe that was, but a few minutes ago, so (noisily) full. It's an oddness that you can't quite place your finger on. Similar to finding yourself in a near-deserted booth of the monorail. It's almost unsettling except you keep trying to reason with yourself that it isn't. That it's quite a normal thing for places to find themselves empty now and then. But the proximity to such "blankness" disturbs me. Perhaps it reminds me only too well of how close we are to the abyss. Of how we harbor our own empty spaces.

Itchy Palms and Other Portents That Mean To Inspire

AAAAAHHHH... The pause that refreshes, eh? Ha ha ha. Just slept the whole day and while, normally(?), that wouldn't exactly sound as good as it feels: Damn! That does just hit the spot!

And as for the theme for the day... Nada. Too bored.

Downside/Upside: One of my cats gave birth to two kittens (What else could she give birth to? Lawn chairs?!) and one of them's dead. Poor thing looks almost human- curled up defensively, perhaps trying to keep the last ebb of life from leaking away. Gave me the creeps. Fetal and blind, pale and pink. I wondered if it was dead before it came out or after. Couldn't briong myslef to touch it. Not particularly squeamish but this time I could scream. A vessel emptied of life. I could almost see those tiny claws scrabbling, one leg kicking, trying to drive itself towards the light. Argh.