Symptoms of Cretinism

Lately I feel devoid of any drive to really do anything. I try to go through the motions of going about the tasks assigned to me and trying to get things done, but all I can manage to come up with is some half-assed sorry excuse of work output. When you work for three months and then you find out that it's seemingly for nothing, and then the position you want gets offered to someone else, only then will you understand how I feel. Sigh. Yes, I'm trying to do something about it, thank you very much - as if I don't see the need to. But trying to have a drive to have a drive when you don't have a drive is not an easy task. And no, you're just reading that last sentence wrong.

You are Brian. The family dog and the most intelligent member of the family. Try not to wet yourself on the carpet anymore. Which Family Guy Character are You? brought to you by Quizilla I chanced upon this lame quiz in between doing my job and reading Ichigo 100% - just 5 questions and suddenly I have become a dog. It says that if I were a Family Guy character, I'd be the smartest one - who is apparently, a dog who likes being a couch potato while drinking martinis. Wow, I didn't know psychology had progressed far beyond the limits of my imagination. 5 questions immediately determine whether I am a talking dog, a girl whose only talent is making bird noises, a woman who likes to talk to dogs, an idiot who's afraid of the evil monkey that lives in his room (Boogeyman, Beware of the Evil Monkey!), another idiot whose hobbies/work include fishing and drinking, and a homicidal baby with homosexual tendencies and a gay teddy bear. Right. I'm the dog. Yay.

I miss her. Three little words that say so much. Those glasses, those cute smiles, her bright eyes. I miss her. Three little words that say so much. It says how much my chest feels close bursting for the want of her, of how much a hug would mean to me right about now. It says how much I miss seeing how she bundles up her hair in a pony tail, or how she looks when she lets those deep brown locks down. Any day without her is incomplete. Just to see her at the end of a day seems to make everything feel alright, even though I have to trudge through early evening rush-hour traffic to get to her. And its just one of those evenings when we get caught up in everything else that isn't about us. I miss her. Three little words that say so much. And so little at the same time.

I don't know whether to be frustrated or happy. I answer one question honestly, then everyone seems to think they know me. Don't they get it? TV isn't my dream job. It just isn't. My dream is to win a Palanca, and be a rich Nick Joaquin - if only I was that good, and if only writing was such a lucrative business, especially for one without connections. Sigh. I guess you can say that I've quite given up on writing for a living; it just won't do. It's not long term enough. That's life for you - you can't get everything you want. It's been this way ever since I can remember - life throws crap in my direction, and I've no choice but to swallow everything and smile. There's only been one exception so far; and she knows who she is. Hi. So now I have to contend with loads of extra stuff and extra work. Sigh. So here I am again, taking all that crap and still smiling.

I admit, I'm a sucker for comic book movies. I've seen X-Men 1 and 2, Fantastic Four, Daredevil, Hellboy, all three Blade movies, every Batman movie, and both Spiderman 1 and 2. I'm even hunting around for a pirated version of Initial D: The Movie, the one that has the guy from MTV's "Whatever Things" starring as Ryosuke (the movie wasn't released here). Although I found most of these films to be less than I expected, I'm still looking forward to watching the next comic book adaptation Hollywood throws my way, namely Ghost Rider. The picture of our favorite flaming skullheaded hero's bike is enough to get me all jittery, considering the movie is set to be released sometime next year. I do have a problem with the whole storyline though. Nick Cage of "Face Off" and "Windtalkers" fame plays Johnny Blaze, who, if I remember correctly, only had a hellfire-shooting shotgun to his credit in the original Marvel Ghost Rider story. It se

I should be given an award or something - going to work when your stomach feels as if its turning itself inside out is no easy task indeed. And no, I do not want to take a dump, thank you very much. Oh well, so much for that. It's time to get back to work and feel my tummy ache some more.

I'm not happy. Again. Considering that the only worthwhile activity I look forward to each and every day had to take a raincheck, I am not a happy camper indeed. So I might just well stay here at the office some more and let the work kill me while I'm at it. I can't blame, much less get angry at anyone for this; it wouldn't be fair. And besides, getting angry would get me nowhere anyway. But that doen't change the fact that at the moment, I am inconsolable. I exaggerate not. Really, I have to take all this angst out somewhere. Or I might just drop dead. (sigh)

I am not happy. Really. I could of course, summon up all the cuss words I've stored up somewhere in the not-so-deep recesses of my brain, but it wouldn't be decent, much less pleasant, to say and/or hear. The last thing I want is to piss of people some more, lest there be another chain reaction of bad trips and the sorry life form at the bottom of the heirarchy suffers. The sorry life form at the bottom of the heirarchy being yours truly. I can hear my boss' voice in my head again - "It's all for the show, it's all for the show." And yet again, I find myself a loss of who to blame. Without being unfair, of course. But well, I guess that's the way it is and always will be; but that doesn't mean I'm ever going to like the taste of crap.

I want to write something, but it seems that the sheer pissed off feeling I am currently suffering from seems to block everything . What's worse is that I can't blame anyone, much less take it out on someone else. Everyone has their own reasons for doing this and that, but that doesn't mean that I like receiveing some "urgent" text message at 11 PM telling me that I "have" to do some whatnot errand that I could have been told about earlier. Then I have to go to the office on a weekend, and that means not being able to sleep in yet again, and then having to do and stress about whole load of stuff that isn't supposed to be my problem in the first place. But well, as my boss would say, "Its all for the show." So I am left to do what I've always done when life seems particularly unfair and irksome - shrug, suck it all in, sigh in between whatever crap's tossed my way, and wait for everything to end.

She was always afraid to change. She never wanted to get out of her comfort zone, as I'd try to kindly point out to her every now and then. She was afraid of adjusting to things that seemed new to her. She never was a risk taker; She hated taking risks; she even didn't want to fall in love in the first place. Failure was like dying to her. But we all have to change and adjust to those changes sooner or later; life forces us to do so whether we like it or not. Everyone fails and falls somewhere along the road - it's getting up that matters. She approached me one night under the impression that she might engage me in a "Socratic dialogue," some what-not thing she learned from one of her Education classes. She said that her professor said that Plato believed the mind was separate from the body - that it was a different entity than the physical self. The mind, or soul, enters the body at the time of birth - where the brain is already filled with all the knowledge i

I usually don't swear, since it's really an un-Christian-like thing to do, but right now, I'll make an exception. What the fuck? There I was, in OC mode, going through the whole blog, checking, and double-checking, seeing if someone had been nice enough to tell me what they thought of my sorry collection of words and phrases. And lo and behold! Someone (besides HER, of course) had posted a comment! I click on the "comments" line and then... ITS FUCKIN' SPAM! What the hell?! I'm mad. I'm very mad. I want to break into whoever-they-are's apartment and beat them to death like that Russian spammer a.k.a Asswipe I read about a few months ago. I do not care about "no jet lag", the redwood trees in America, or the rising prices of oil in the United States. It's not my friggin' problem. And as far as I'm concerned, it serves America right that their country's falling apart. Damn imperialist pigs. Spam someone else, asswipe.

I have recently discovered that I like house blessings. We recently moved to a new office last Friday, and besides being (rudely) sprinkled (splashed) by "holy" water by the officiating priest several times, I was quite surprised that I kinda liked the whole thing after all. Well of course, I didn't hold a candle or recite their mantra-like "prayers", but I am proud to have been an active participant in the hearty merienda or arrozcaldo, biko and lumpia that followed after, and the part where someone tosses out coins and candy. Screw the candy, I went straight after the money. Hmm... so that's why somebody passed around a plastic bag where everyone had to put in coins. I thought it was for a contribution or something. So, in this paagaw, I was able to make the one peso I put into the bag become 15 pesos! My chinese grandfather would have been proud. But my love for the Catholic er... stuff stops there. The whole religion scares the living daylights out of m

Is there such a thing as loving somebody too much? I was never one for freedom. I was never the kind of guy who liked to go running around bars and hooking up with random girls for, to use the GTA: San Andreas term, "coffee." I'd hear people say that its hard to be attached too early, but I always say that it depends on the person you're attached to. But that's just me. Apparently, that's bad. It's bad to keep on thinking about someone that you can't think about anybody else. It's bad to feel as if you've lost half of yourself when you're not with her and it's bad to drown yourself in daydreams of her. And it's just as bad to tell her how you feel. Now, I guess I have to learn not to love too much. Not to miss too much. Not to give every single shred of my soul to another person. But the thing is, its not too much. I can never love her enough; no actions or words come close to expressing how I feel. But then again, that's just m