bRiNg tHe beAt baCk

(I wanted to do this again because I'm bored but I want to update; and because I'm not in the mood to be grammatically correct, with all the shiznit on unity and transition, chuchu. I'm not even trying to be writer-y. Hm.)

I.
I was buried in my lola's comforter, bemoaning the state of my money-less existence (I want to retail-shop-therapy, if you can recall) when a thought worthy of a seventeen-year-old schoolgirl popped into my head: There is a high probability that I will be classmates with that crush of mine who likes to part his hair in such a highschool-pretty boy manner. So, yes, rejoice, for said crush is undoubtedly a guy. Hm. I overheard him telling someone na he was gonna take this class that I'm in, next sem, which is this sem. So, ignoring the stalker-vibe of the previous statement, I actually have something to look forward to this sem that's not remotely academic. Wee!

II.
I am fearing for the state of my literary existence. This is more than the shallowness of my blog entries. I mean, my fiction. Meaning, nothing's looking like it'll get me anywhere, at least (for now) to a respectable critique from one of my fang-baring friends. Sure, I'm still in my primordial soup stages so there's really no tangible existence as of yet. So far, my fiction's all holes and gaps, all having a dire need for voice. Everything's too commercial, too oh trash-y. My pieces are basically examples found in those basic "You Can Be A Writer!" books and it's just sooo sad, especially since classes are a weekend away. Ach. It's just that the creative juices are dry and whatever does come out is pure crap. Good luck to me.

III.
Some odd four years ago, I picked up a slim blue UP publication: Eight Stories. Some odd four years later, now, the book, a bit yellow, has been reinstated on my bedside desk. The book contains eight god-damned fantastic pieces of literature, most of them dark and gritty; some even have that sliver of goth. I am a fan. A rabid one... Three days from now, I am going to meet the author face to face and spend some odd months under his tutelage. (Oh, fuck, I am going to be Alfred Yuson's student.) Hala.

IV.
Do these glasses make me look smarter? A random friend, upon seeing them on me, said, "Those are probably the most erotic glasses I've ever seen." O-kaaay. And, no, I wasn't doing anything remotely sexual. (To those who need a more visual clarification: No, I wasn't blowing him at the time, with eye contact.) I think the boy needs a girlfriend. Hai. Maybe I look like a tramp secretary. Ooh, kinky.

V.
My grandparents have better cellphones than me. Maybe because they have a considerably larger bank account than moi. Anyway, Daddy Poop (my lolo) got a Nokia 6630 last year and kanina lang -- as in kanina lang -- Mommy Lily (my lola) got the cutest widdle phone, a Nokia 6111. I have so much envy right now. Hahaha, tas ako wala pang cellphone. Pathetic. Agh. I need a sugar daddy.

VI.
I want to lose weight. I look dreadful without any clothes on. Not that anyone will see me naked anytime soon. I just like to feel good, knowing I look like a million dollars (plus abs) underneath my tiangge-bought clothes. Ach, but losign weight means physical exertion. Aaargh.

VII.
The Christmas decor is up in my lola's house! Ooh, it smells like Christmas already! :p Magtipid na kayo! Maghihintay ako ng regalo! :p

See you!