Jesus, I don't deserve this kind of distraction; the guy's not even my type. I have to cut the act now; it's been a week already, and I think I've apologized enough. All this unnecessary attention for a new year's resolution? I don't see anything wrong about "showing a lot of motive this year around," but there are, well, better smelling men out there. What I'm saying is that the ends don't really justify the means. Not usually. I'm not up for a scandal. Or for a sexual experience that will remain available for regretful recall.
I'm developing this devouring greed for Chuck Taylors; I have four pairs now, and I plan to acquire more. And I'm finding myself paying more attention to the way the shoelaces fall on both feet: they NEED to be of equal lengths. It's gone so bad that I'm actually taking the time of day to untie both shoes because I want to make sure that the laces are equally distributed in terms of lengths. Underscore equally. And I'm feeling a deeper sense of security with properly tied shoelaces. Jesus, OCD is scary.
All the elevators in the office are equipped with wall-to-wall mirrors good enough for four people standing side to side. And there's this fag who can't seem to get enough reflective space with which to admire his dry hair, big pores, and oily skin. It's always the same ritual with him every unfortunate chance I get to share the elevator with this vain toad. What makes this ugly fool stick to memory is that not only does he compete for the mirror space, but he doesn't stop pimping himself up until everybody else has quit doing their business three minutes ago. Quit hogging the mirror space. Your shallow sense of accomplishment can't get any more shameful than that. There's not much to look at to begin with.
I saw this dude one time, and he's wearing the fiercest skinny jeans and this white coat coupled with the craziest tote bag to complete the metrosexual charade. He walks with this sashay that's totally characteristic of the confused urban male. I'm telling you, this guy's got taste.And he's wearing a goatee, too. That's like the ultimate in closet queen fashion.
It does feel cold and spoiled when one is writing with a very limited word count, but there are certain adjustments one must make when his creative economy suffers a heart attack. Brilliance comes in hiccups these days, so I've elected to writing in very brief bursts. It's either this, or I will be reducing songs to their plagiarized Tagalog versions, which is the sort of brainshit stealing I curse in my sleep. Or I can quit blogging altogether, but how can I let go of a distraction that masturbates my creativity? I'm still scheduling my hiccups though, being the lazy bastard I'm trying to conceal.
**Happy New Year!
There's this kid in the front seat of this FX taxi that drove me home one time. He's a whiny two, maybe one-year old bother, loud and troublesome all throughout his very malnourished disposition, and he's crying. Hard. Real hard. You can't imagine how such crazy shrieking can issue from a kid that skinny. It's like the noise of deep frying wire, multiplied by a thousand, and then heard through a stethoscope. It's just not possible, but then, hunger pangs do occasion such intense effects, so I thought of it no more. That's this driver's problem anyway. The third thing that dawned on me as I half heartedly loaded myself in this wreck of a ride home is that life here is hard. The first thing was "what an ugly kid," and then "losers don't get no better than this fool next to this kid." The driver has this very gross sixth finger in his right hand too, not that it matters. I'm just saying that because I have such attention to detail. But no, that doesn't change anything: life here is hard. It's so hard that it pushed this poor FX driver dude, this one with the sixth finger, to baby sit and drive at the same time. And then it occured to me that most Filipinos can't afford a baby sitter, much less an unhygienic baby sitter that makes fare change all day. So this little bother must be his kid. It was in this same ride home that I saw this AD for a web developing company. They're hiring bloggers who specialize in Wordpress. Now, that gave me an idea, and I was this close to suggesting a part time four hour job thrice weekly. I learned Blogger, and I sure as hell can learn Wordpress, but I decided my sexy night job pretty much covers my expenses well enough to ignore the idea of two timing my pimps. Life's hard, but I shushed that thought dead in its tracks, and resigned myself to this poor kid overpowering the stereo with his hungry screaming. And then there's this loud bitch too, in the same ride home, who was just relentless with her two peso change. She paid 25 pesos for a 23 peso ride, and I'm telling you, she's mighty vigilant with her just difference. Sure, a penny saved is a penny earned, but she, she's stinginess with a vengeance! And she's as loud about it, too. Now I'm sure I can't say this enough, but life's hard. It's harder, though, for that poor misfigured chap who had to raise a kid at the same time he's making change. I hope all those distractions steer him clear of a traffic violation or a speeding ticket or, bless his soul, from some freak accident that will severely damage his van beyond repair. That's like he's already dug himself a shallow grave, but somebody goes ahead and throws him a shovel to dig deeper. It can only get harder.
