You know it's Christmas
Watching TV Patrol (World) this afternoon, seeing that SLEX is clogged like a shower drain in an all-girls dorm room, that veggie prices have skyrocketed, that Charise Pempengco (who I saw on Ellen) is coming out with an album, that the criminal minds in Hong Kong are attaching drugs on the CD cases of pornos, I thought: All I really want for Christmas is some ol'-fashioned fruitcake, some Jeanette Winterson books and a pair of knee-high boots.
And my mom calls me to say, "We're having SPAM for noche buena."
"Cool. Uh, can't we at least have hotdogs to grill like we did last year?"
"Uhm, how about corned beef?"
"To grill."
"Stranger things have happened."
*
Popping Strepsils and gigantic yellow-pills to keep myself out of bed for tomorrow night's dinner. Food, booze and cam-whoring (oh yeah, and friends) here I come.
*
Watching SNL's Dick in a Box to remind myself to update my Christmas Wish-list. Hay.
*
Last days in Dumaguete. (After which my mother wound up frantically texting everyone from my grandmother to Sir Krip, because I sort of forget to tell her I'd already gone back to Manila.) I remember taking Memories of My Melancholy Whores by Gabriel Garcia Marquez from Michelle's gigantic pile (as in tambakan) of books in her dorm room, slipping it into the back pocket of the borrowed cargo pants I was wearing, and reading it bit by bit from Forest Camp to Silliman Beach to Justine's pad. Oh, and the last car ride to the airport. I scribbled this here on my now-overflowing journal and just stumbled upon it now:
"I discovered that my obsession for having each thing in the right place, each subject at the right time, each word in the right style, was not the well-deserved reward of an ordered mind but just the opposite: a complete system of pretense invented by me to hide the disorder of my nature. I discovered that I am not disciplined out of virtue but as a reaction to my negligence, that I appear generous in order to conceal my meanness, that I pass myself off as prudent because I am evil-minded, that I am conciliatory in order not to succumb to my repressed rage, that I am punctual only to hide how little I care about other people's time. I learned, in short, that love is not a condition of the spirit but a sign of the zodiac."
Hurray for melancholy whores. :)
And my mom calls me to say, "We're having SPAM for noche buena."
"Cool. Uh, can't we at least have hotdogs to grill like we did last year?"
"Uhm, how about corned beef?"
"To grill."
"Stranger things have happened."
*
Popping Strepsils and gigantic yellow-pills to keep myself out of bed for tomorrow night's dinner. Food, booze and cam-whoring (oh yeah, and friends) here I come.
*
Watching SNL's Dick in a Box to remind myself to update my Christmas Wish-list. Hay.
*
Last days in Dumaguete. (After which my mother wound up frantically texting everyone from my grandmother to Sir Krip, because I sort of forget to tell her I'd already gone back to Manila.) I remember taking Memories of My Melancholy Whores by Gabriel Garcia Marquez from Michelle's gigantic pile (as in tambakan) of books in her dorm room, slipping it into the back pocket of the borrowed cargo pants I was wearing, and reading it bit by bit from Forest Camp to Silliman Beach to Justine's pad. Oh, and the last car ride to the airport. I scribbled this here on my now-overflowing journal and just stumbled upon it now:
"I discovered that my obsession for having each thing in the right place, each subject at the right time, each word in the right style, was not the well-deserved reward of an ordered mind but just the opposite: a complete system of pretense invented by me to hide the disorder of my nature. I discovered that I am not disciplined out of virtue but as a reaction to my negligence, that I appear generous in order to conceal my meanness, that I pass myself off as prudent because I am evil-minded, that I am conciliatory in order not to succumb to my repressed rage, that I am punctual only to hide how little I care about other people's time. I learned, in short, that love is not a condition of the spirit but a sign of the zodiac."
Hurray for melancholy whores. :)
posted by Sasha Martinez at
11:10:00 PM
2 Comments:
all these from that thin, beautiful book.hurrah.
p.s.i so have to start on a journal.who knows what i'll discover?=) muah.
among the things you'll discover (if you're weird, like me): grocery lists, by-the-hour scheds for two weeks, call numbers for random books, cellphone numbers whose names have forever been lost.
:)
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