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Growl, I'm parched. [21 Apr 2007|02:03am] [ mood | awake ] [ music | Dream a Little Dream of Me - Michael Buble ] I put down a glass just now and lost it. I've looked all over this room, overturned cushions, pushed my fingers into the darkness of shelves, flicked on all the lights and LOOKED...it's gone. It has disappeared completely, this half-foot transparent thing with corners and ridges, like a rectangular bubble. How could I have lost it? Or "misplaced" it--I hate that word--so professionally within the time it took me to set it down God-knows-where and tell my brother, "Watch The Science of Sleep DVD tomorrow," that three seconds later it's almost as if it didn't exist? How many things have I set aside, pushed away, covered, lost--verbs so simultaneously absentminded yet somehow deliberate--so as never to see the living daylight again? It's just a glass, I'm just obsessive compulsive, the situation has more to do with a slight of hand than a philosophical truth, but damn it, all I  wanted was some water, an inch of something cool to ease a sticky throat (meaning what, Freud? The equivalent of a hidden desire for my very own Golden the Pony Boy? ARGH) Why make me sufferrrrrrrrrrrr. So...I grabbed a mug.  (Figures. I'd actually prefer coffee to water right now but then how would I sleep...caffeine doesn't really affect me but the thought as to why that is probably would. Definitely might. Certainly could.) held

Summer-sault. [09 Apr 2007|10:00pm] [ mood | happy ] [ music | Our Last Days as Children - Explosions in the Sky ] What I love most about people is that they surprise you when you least expect it. You live your life from day to patterned day, from normalcy to more normalcy, saying the same words, eating the same food, breathing the same air, assuming that the same silver moon will replace the same white sun every 12 hours and the 12 hours after those. Then suddenly, abruptly, like the untimely supernova that flung billions of stellar entities across the universe 4 billion years ago in a cataclysmic accident, you get a call, a letter, a honk outside your bedroom window, and the pattern has changed forever, just like that. I miss so rarely, but when I do get around to the missing it strikes me like a matchhead on a shred of sandpaper. Something that has been so doused, so buried, so forgotten, reheats in this flurry of blue and gold, in fire and memory and joy, and there you are again, Insanity Embodied with a smile on Her face, because a friend you have left so far behind turns out to have been right there with you all along. I hate surprises, really, mainly because I cling to being in control and loathe the off-guarded. But some surprises touch me so much that it becomes hard to tell sometimes. It becomes hard to tell the difference between hating and loving and missing and all the go-in-betweens. Mind you, this has nothing to do with the XY chromosome or red hearts or a future Valentine--HELL NO. This is just about how in the paradox of all this manic boredom, this static madness, this perpetual stretch of crazytypical, someone still manages to do wonderful, unexpected things for someone else, somehow, sometimes. It's summer=) 1 gaze|held

Bluesunday. [11 Feb 2007|06:29pm] [ mood | pensive ] [ music | I Don't Like It Like This - The Radio Dept. ] Today, a watered-down cocktail of hues. Bright gray at 10 am on the way to church. Orange during my afternoon smoke. And now blue velvet, while I think of someone who has never crossed my mind before because he doesn't exist. It's this dream I keep having. How is it possible, that I memorize the unruly hair and the mouth that hardly smiles but tries, eyes that are mysterious and unraveling at the same time, those dark brown pupils waxing and waning. Sometimes I feel like I'm being watched, but when I turn to look there is no one but the wind, running his fingers across my forehead in a lost whisper. That's when I know I'm being too quiet. I figured out this morning--one passed in an 8-word silence--that I fall asleep when you touch a little patch of skin on my neck, right on the nape, laced with those tiny strands of hair. You just pass your palm over it a few times and my eyes close, smiling. Let's dance, or cut class for a theme park, or skinnydip. I haven't felt a rush in ages. PS: I saw this commercial on tv advertising floral arrangements for V-day. Apparently, all women want flowers, especially the ones who say they don't, "so log on to shelikesflowers.com, because she likes flowers." I'm not sure if that's chauvinistic or just true. 2 gazes|held

At random [24 Jan 2007|07:11pm] [ mood | contemplative ] [ music | I Don't Trust Myself - John Mayer ] Did you know that the sky is the exact same color at six in the morning and six at night? (or is it afternoon?) It's this glossy shade of salmon, all lush pink flesh with a gray-silver underbelly. It's gorgeous. When I'm in my ultra-grouch morning mood on the way to Ateneo for 7:30 classes, or on my way home from a late Friday schoolday, I just look out the window in awe and drink in everything I can take from that brilliant, delicious spectacle. Clouds are amazing. At noon on a hot day they look like the title background of The Simpsons; on a rainy day it's as if they form this huge, furrowed brow on a sulking invisible god. I spend a lot of time looking out windows. Sometimes I pretend that the people walking outside or the cracks on the road or the electrical wires weaving in and out of each other like mile long braids are part of a music video that I'm directing with my eyes. A forty minute music video, spanning the time it takes me to get home to far, far away Alabang, with lots of 5 p.m.-ish backlighting, running kids, sunsets, shanties, people looking out their own windows, seeing me...  Two days ago a random boy asked for my number on SEC field as I was putting up my French exhibit. First he said, "You're Jody's sister, right?" I said yeah, with a funny look (you guys know it, my face does acrobatics). He said, "Cool. Don't ask me how I knew that." And then he asked for my number. I said I was late for class and then kind of slinked (slunk?) away. I'm never prepared for these sorts of things, especially when strangers who know my family members don't offer any explanations as to how they recognize me. Oh wait, it's the nose! :D ******************************** Hold on to whatever you find, baby. Oh, John. Let's elope. 9 gazes|held

Tori meets Joni [06 Jan 2007|11:12am] A Case of You Just before our love got lost you said, "I am as constant as the northern star." And I said, "Constantly in the darkness? Where's that at.  If you want me I'll be at the bar." On the back of a cartoon coaster, in the blue TV screen light, I drew a map of Canada, Oh, Canada, with your face sketched on it twice. In my blood like holy wine, you taste so bitter, bitter and so sweet. Well, I could drink a case of you, darling, and I would still be on my feet. I would still be on my feet. Oh, I am a lonely painter. I live in a box of paints. I'm frightened by the devil and I'm drawn to those who ain't afraid. I remember that time you told me, "Love is touching souls." Surely you touched mine. 'Cause part of you pours out of me in these lines from time to time. My blood, My holy wine, Tastes so bitter, bitter and so sweet. Well, I could drink a case of you, darling, and I would still be on my feet. I would still be on my feet. I met a woman. She had a mouth like yours. She knew your devils and your deeds, and she said, "Go to him. Stay with him. But be prepared to bleed." 1 gaze|held

Wham bam thank you Pacman. [19 Nov 2006|01:12pm] [ mood | groggy ] [ music | Don't Cry Out - Shiny Toy Guns ] I could never have a boxer as a boyfriend. Boxers are like musicians--they have their girlfriends attend their gigs, cheer at the sidelines, and hope for the best. Except when you are a boxer on a bad night, you exit the stage swathed in bandages instead of just boos. I don't know how Mrs. Pacquiao and Mrs. Morales and all the other Mrs. Boxer Wives out there can stand it. I could never ever EVER in a million years watch in a crowd of hysterical fans as my man got himself pulverized to smithereens of flesh and bone by some foreign hotshot with a flag on his ass. Two pairs of frozen eyes, two mouths aflame, four machine-gun gloves like red bullets, and fifteen thousand frenzied people screaming for the blood of one or the other. No thank you. I think I would rather be in love with a librarian. I'm proud as HELL of Manny Pacquiao, but did you see Morales' face after the final knockout? He looked so helpless, like everything he loved had just vanished into thin air. I guess it did. 8 gazes|held

The Sartorialist [10 Nov 2006|04:41pm] [ mood | content ] [ music | Love Sick - Bob Dylan ] Thanks to Nadzy for my newest addiction. I have never in my life seen so many fabulous, regular people on the street or having coffee or walking their dogs or smoking or doing other regular people things but still looking fabulous. I wish we Manila folks could be painstakingly couture-conscious all the time and everywhere we go, even when all we're doing is finding the best catch at the fish market or grabbing a latte at Starbucks. I wish boys would wear pocket squares in their suit jackets...even in their sweatshirts when they go jogging! I wish someone would take a picture of me rushing up a staircase in needle-thin stilletos and a tulip dress by Paul Smith. I wish we had all four seasons in this country so that fall and winter fashion could apply to us; I WANT THE RIGHT TO WEAR A SCARF. With matching gloves. Oh, this devious world of clothing! Click and get ready to drool. ( Eat your heart out, frumpy people! ) 22 gazes|held

And she looked at him. And she looked at him. [30 Oct 2006|04:01pm] [ mood | warm ] [ music | Walking Around Waiting Downtown - Reverie Sound Revue ] I stayed up til 5 am this morning watching A Very Long Engagement on television. Sometimes I'm bewildered at how easily a thin string of film can evoke emotions that are raw, intimate, vibrant, nostalgic, and delicate by turn. How does a piece of machinery produce something so human. The French know love. And Audrey Tatou is a fucking genius. Why is it that I always find myself drawn to period films? Stories that unfolded an age before I was born, before my parents were born. It's like I have half a person inside of me who knows nothing of the modern world and who no one recognizes. Oh wait, I know who she is. She's this old soul wandering around in a bright young body, halved, with eyes full of skyscrapers but a mind from the Renaissance. 8 gazes|held

Thank you, God. [20 Oct 2006|09:01am] [ mood | joyous ] [ music | When I Hold You - Zaab & State of Soul ] UNBELIEVABLE. As a few of you may know, I missed my Theo finals last Wednesday due to a schedule mishap. Serious stupidity on my part. Luckily, my professor was in an uncannily good mood that afternoon when I came three hours late for the exam, and I was able to get a resched for 8am today. SO I enter the Theo Department this morning at ten to 8:00 to make a good impression. After thirty excruciating minutes of mumbling, nausea,and sweaty pacing, my prof finally arrives, whistling, my exam in hand. He sits me in one of the Jesuits' cubicles, clarifies the instructions, and leaves me to my own devices. I finish the test at around a quarter to 10:00. I enter his office, where he is proctoring an oral exam, and he tells me that if I wait a little while he can give me my score. I wait a little while. Twenty minutes later I'm inside the same office with my paper and a red pen in hand, listening to my prof dictate the answers. Results: Passing score is 70. In the multiple choice section, I got 48. In the Tama/Mali section, I got 11. 48+11=59. I needed 11 more points to pass. A perfect score for the last section would only give me 10. We discussed the last section, the short essay part, and my score only came up to about 5. BUT THEN. My prof says, "But I'll give you 10/10 for effort." He writes 10/10 on my paper. I now had 69 points. I go, "Sir, give me one more point!!" He leafs through the pages, thinks for two seconds, and says, "Okay," and then changes one of the X's in the multiple choice section to a check.  SO BASICALLY, I PASSED =D !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PS: My brother missed his Theo finals the day before I did. His teacher loves him so much, she laughed when he came looking for her and gave him the test on the spot. What are the odds? :p 9 gazes|held

You emerge from the things. [18 Oct 2006|06:25am] [ mood | calm ] [ music | Paint the Silence - South ] I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent, and you hear me from far away and my voice does not touch you. It seems as though your eyes had flown away and it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth. - Pablo Neruda ( A memory. ) 14 gazes|held

Nothingland. [08 Oct 2006|09:05pm] [ mood | good ] [ music | Ain't No Love - David Gray ] This is the second time I'm writing this, stupid LJ, rar. After an endless weekend of overpriced coffee, flickering electricity, and hours of poring over wretched theology handouts, I'm just about ready for a good, long, unhealthy smoke. And a rant, too! It's funny how my mother and I are usually on the same page when it concerns things that moms and daughters are supposed to butt heads on. But child, when we get on each other's cases! It's like an apocalypse with bad lighting and maxed out volume and glares that could slice through dry ice and livid mouthings of die,bitch,die et. al. Then, after an instant or two of glacial silent treatment, we make up under the most superficial of pretenses (i.e. "Honey, do I look fat in this shirt?" or "Mom, can I have credits?") Odd. Have I mentioned how glad I am to have civilization back on track? And by that I mean steady lighting, running water, AC, cable tv, and internet. Needless to say, in this Jumanji version of Alabang that I now reside in, it's pretty funny how relatively soon technology made its comeback. You'll know what I mean on the offchance that you swing by the village, with its ruin of trees and wango-tango debris of wires. It's hardly as pretty as it ought to be--and by that I mean I live in a friggin warzone now. No worries, though, because pretty soon those epic branches will be cleared off the avenues and leaving for school everyday won't be like weaving my way through severed giants' limbs. Poetic! What else. Last night I was watching this thing on Starmovies...Undiscovered? It's (haha) Ashlee Simpson's debut in the movie world, and, just as I pre-conjectured when her name flashed during opening credits, girlfriend can't act for shiz. The rest of the cast was pretty damn hot, though, except for the leading lady, who was the carbon copy of a weasel on meth. The leading man was this Jeff Buckley-channeling thing with messy rockstar hair and a slutty baby face and a perpetual 5'o'clock shadow. And he singssssssssssss. In real life, too (his character was this tortured freelance bar singer trying to break out into the industry on his own terms. Cliche coming of age bull, but the man was extra GORGE nonetheless.) The whole movie was filmed in this dim blue-green tint, kind of like the one they used in the first INXS video? Not bad, actually, and the plot wasn't half as bad as the puke one they used in Britney's movie. Hehe :) Anyway, ( click me, you can probably relate :P ) held

Cold turkey? [27 Sep 2006|07:12pm] [ mood | anxious ] [ music | Babe I'm Gonna Leave You - Led Zepellin ] My mom came into the room a few minutes ago and told me she knows she can't force me into anything but as My Mother she feels obligated to keep me informed. It's time to quit smoking, she said. Apparently, the Philippines has the highest rate of women suffering from cancer and cancer-related diseases in Asia. Also, a quickly growing denomination of cancer victims are young people in their 20's. Then, in a magazine she was reading at the spa about an hour ago, she came across an article that said the cigarettes being manufactured nowadays are a hundred times more loaded with carcinogens than the cigs back in the day (her day, in other words.) And then the knockout--"Remember, cancer runs in our family. I had it, your lola had it, and you're susceptible to it, even though you're young." Funny thing is, I was thinking about quitting yesterday after I got a scare. Before going to her Makati meeting yesterday, Mom had to drop by Asian Hospital to have a lump on the side of her neck checked. I WAS SO SCARED. When she told me, I got that tight, heaving sensation in my chest that only happens when I need to vomit after too much liquor. Thank God, when she and my dad got home last night, Mom told me she only needs one little surgery to pluck the thing out, because the doctors want to make sure it isn't malignant--they don't even think it's a tumor of any kind. The anxiety stuck with me, though, the entire night. I had to pray (something I only do before tests or when people I care about are far away) just to calm down. I was telling Boogie in the smocket the other day that I was going to quit young, at 21, to mark the end of an age. But apparently 21 is the new 61, and I wouldn't be outsmarting Life as much as I'd wish. What am I going to do. _________________________________________________________ Here's something to be more cheerful about: no school tomorrow. I'm going to pop in my dvd of "The Jacket" (thanks starshaped03 Nadz) and revive myself with Adrien Brody. held

Backwards. [21 Sep 2006|05:57pm] [ mood | contemplative ] [ music | What It Feels Like For a Girl - Madonna ] You know that feeling you get when you wish you'd said something or done something, but didn't, because something else held you back? Maybe it was that morbid fear of rejection, or those quickly piling and drying bricks of pride. Maybe it was even carelessness, or that wretched (but ever repeated) "what's the use?" mentality. Whichever it was, my old wounds have been festering in that sticky feeling for days now. I think--for reasons still unknown to me--that turning a year older this week (THE year, by the by, that will bid farewell to the bright eyes and cracked hearts of teendom) has cycled me through the entire gamut of repressed emotions that I've kept under cold, dark wraps for an eternity. Here, then, is a ranting display of catharsis! Most of you won't see this, and countless more won't hear about it, but this isn't about you, my past-life darlings, it's about me. I should have told you I missed you I should have asked you what was going on between us, if there was even something going on I should have assured you that you were going to be okay, for the enth time, even though I was sick of you at that point I should have remarked on how much you talked about (and only about) yourself all the damn time I should have held your hand I should have kept my mouth shut about you I should have come to visit you more often than sporadically I should have stopped for a chat with you I should have pointed out your unforgivable stupidity I should have hung up on you I should have called you instead of waiting for the phone to ring I should have avoided you and all your games I should have let you off the hook I should have exposed you as a liar and a fraud (a fat one) I should have given you a reason I should have saved my anguish over you, because when I look back on all that weakness now, it makes my skin crawl I should have followed what you said I should have told you to quit for your own good and I should have kissed you, I really should have, because I really could have. Too late for all that now, though, and I finally don't care! Recently I've been a sort of modern-day stoic, like I'm incapable of feeling anything else other than academe-related stress and weekend-sparked relief. Telltale sign: I'm starting to have this faint and quickly escalating aversion to even the thought of a boyfriend, which is completely out of character. I want my independence, I itch for my own claim to fame, and what I've never known for myself will never hurt me! :D I'm LOVING it. held

Ramp fervor. [20 Sep 2006|11:17pm] [ mood | high ] [ music | Le Disko - Shiny Toy Guns ] Hooked on this. Hello little boys, little toys We’re the dreams you're believing Crawling up the walls Running down your face Razor sharp, razor clean Feel the weapon's sensation On your back With loaded guns Now hold onto me, pretty baby If you want to fly I’m gonna melt the fever sugar Rolling back your eyes We're gonna ride the race cars We’re gonna dance on fire We’re the girls Le Disko Supersonic overdrive So what's it gonna take? Silver shadow believer Spock rocker with your dirty eyes It’s a chance  Gonna move Gonna fuck up your ego Silly boy, gonna make you cry If what they say is true You’re a boy and I'm a girl I will never fall in love with you held

Mshmm mshmmm gnarr. [04 Sep 2006|09:05pm] [ mood | psych-ic ] [ music | Everybody Here Wants You - Jeff Buckley ] The best feeling in the world happens when you're listening to your favorite song in the whole wide world (you know the one; it makes you feel downright GAY whenever, and no matter how many times, you hear it), and the wind is blowing across your face, and you feel skinny for some odd reason, and your mind is so free and unperturbed that it might as well throw its legs over a wall and swing them, and the sky is unfolding into this deliciously rosey tangerine dream, and everything is warm and soft and pungent and clean and calm. The worst feeling in the world happens when, after all of the above, you realize you have 12 life goals to study for the Psych long test tomorrow--and you're barely making it through the 3rd. Frick on a stickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk. Oh well! Twenty nine pearls in your kiss... 1 gaze|held

Fight off the lethargy! [27 Aug 2006|08:41pm] [ mood | amused ] [ music | Combat Baby - Metric ] Five (5) male models sat in front of me in church today. It was glorious. Aaaaa-MEN! And finally, FINALLY, I bought new clothes! Call me girly, but I always work better when I look cute :P Yahoo! 1 gaze|held

Stagnant. [24 Aug 2006|10:05pm] [ mood | questionable ] [ music | Back of Your Car - Ryan Star ] I'm so bored with my life. I want something new to come along and just thrill me. Or if not, I want something about me to change drastically. It's like that feeling that I get whenever I see pictures of Natalie Portman bald. I get this urge to shave my head down to the skin, and then I want to grow my hair as long as it can possibly go, and then I want to chop it off up to my ears and wear a bow in it like Amelie. Except now this isn't about hair. (Or, at least, not completely--maybe I should get a dye job over the weekend.) In fact, this probably has nothing to do with anything appearance-related, unless I sprout a seriously ripped abdomen in 24 hours, which would be nice. Right now I feel so...I don't know. Tepid? Dull? Blah? Yes, that's it. Right now I feel so Ridiculously Blah I could pee. And I don't want to pee. I want to be with some sweet thing in the back of his car, listening to Lover You Should've Come Over, tracing skin with our fingertips like in that commercial for the New Passat. Oh wait, I know what the matter is. I HAVEN'T BEEN KISSED IN AGES. Haha argh. PS: Dilana was one on Rockstar, Alexis Stewart was one on the Martha Show, and YOU were the biggest one of them all. Starts with a B, ends with an itch! 12 gazes|held

I'm In My Dark Place. Haha. [22 Aug 2006|07:05pm] [ mood | ayayay!! ] [ music | The Last Goodbye - James Morrison ] This has been a very, very strange day. Turns out that the paper I finished last Friday (NIGHT; I am a loser) wasn't due today, and the paper that was due was completely unheard of by little old me. So I crammed a page together in the comlab for the very first time in LIFE! It was almost liberating, haha. (Did I mention I tripped over a wire and fell flat on my face in front of this random man?! He looked startled. And my big toe hurts until now.) Then Psych went by, and 101 went by, and just as I thought I was in the clear for the ride back home, I suddenly found myself photocopying material for a friend's midterms tomorrow. Her handout was at Kostka, so you can imagine the human traffic. Plus, just when I was 2 friggin places away from xeroxing the stuff, some FRESHIE KID decides to make about TWELVE BAJILLION COPIES of a 30 page handout, right about the same time that my brother calls me up and starts bitching about how long I'm taking. DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUDE WHATS UP WITCHOO YO. Anyhow, Someone Up There decided to cut me a break, and the girl ahead of me said I could overtake her, seeing as how agitated I was getting and all. I practically wept. Clearly, it was embarassing. I was so happy I actually hugged her, a complete and utter stranger, and I said thankyou thankyou thankyou so many times you would have thought I was Korean minus the bowing. When I got back to Alabang I threw myself into a frenzied workout at the gym and pretended I was killing everbody while I did weights. It was damn good cardio. This entry is feisty. 10 gazes|held

Job blues [19 Aug 2006|12:50pm] [ mood | confused ] [ music | Driving - Everything But The Girl ] I haven't updated in a bit, but I've had good reason not to! I've been thinking about my future all week, you see, and what the hell I'm going to be doing with it, and truth be told, I have absolutely no idea. The few certainties I do have on record are the things that I LOVE to do, and by the looks of it they aren't going to put focaccia on the table, a Bentley in the garage, or Manolos on my (preferably well-manicured) feet. You don't have to say it. I know that sounds completely materialistic and superficial--not to mention exorbitant--but, although I don't mind starting from the bottom like everyone else does, I'm going on the idea that by the time I reach the top, it will be a top covered in silk and caviar and Cabernet (figuratively; I don't really like silk.) And I just don't see that happening based on the career options that "doing what I love" leaves me with. Look, oh. 1. Writer - If possible, it's what I want to do, and be paid for doing, for the rest of my life. I want to leave a tangible, respectable legacy behind--more than tangible, even, and by that I mean reprintable. But in this country??? Come on. Words don't sell unless they're in the tabloids, and on the offchance that they do sell, the production will be crap. If I want to be a writer, a good, original, admirable, RENOWNED one, I'll have to do everything abroad. Which is not a bad idea at all, given that my bank account doesn't cave in. Twice. 2. Singer - I wish, but no. Next. 3. Illustrator - I don't know how to describe what I draw (mostly hot people looking emo with excerpts from songs) (that doesn't sound very promising, does it), but I could be a fashion illustrator, and I'd love it. Problem is, that's not a steady gig, and although I really plan to do it on the side, it isn't going to pay the bills. Unless, of course, I get as big as Jordi Labanda, from whom I am still a loooooooooooong way off (I seem to be having a difficulty with hands--they look like claws--and feet--they look like pencils.) 4. Stylist - Given that I defeat all the other fashion design and fashion merchandising graduates in line (I myself being a mere Comm major), I would still be thinking about writing, singing, drawing, writing, singing, drawing, writing, singing, drawing (as well as, "Do straight men still exist in this world of STYLE?") all the time. 5. Editor - I like this almost as much as the writer bit, even though there isn't as much writing involved, because I am addicted to grammar and punctuation. HAHAHAHA. (No really.) And what's even better is that I'd kind of get to integrate all my preceding four options into one form of employment, even though I wouldn't necessarily be taking a hands-on approach to any of them. Gets? But yeah. It's my most valid option, even though it has a tad less passion attached to it than the rest. There you go. That doesn't seem like a very practical list, does it? Never fear, next time I'll be sure to include options for the Practy McPractical fields of business and finance. BECAUSE I AM SO GOOD AT MATH LIKE THAT. 29 gazes|held

Post-nap thoughts [12 Aug 2006|07:47pm] [ mood | drained ] [ music | Sweetest Taboo - Les Nubians ] I feel bad for missing Anina's SexyBlack night, but even with the 6 hours of sleep I got after M02's despedida dinner for Chona, NSTP today with my three little girls was exhausting. The smartest one, Paulene, finished all her work ahead of time and then started acting restless/bitchy/bored. She, however, made up for this unsaccharine attitude later on in the session, when she sidled up to me and asked me to read a Berenstein Bears book to her. The average one, Berna, turned out to be not so much average as she was sly, showing her knack for copying answers off her friends' papers. She's generally the cutest out of the three, but definitely the friskiest as well. I see a career in crime up ahead. Just kidding. Thank God for the littlest one, Joanna. Initially I thought she was my slowest child, but today the darling wanted to work all through her recess because she wanted to complete, and more importantly, understand her lessons. I don't like kids, and have a particular aversion to little girls (I was quite the annoying one back in the day), but Joanna is an exception, Big Bambi eyes and all. She wouldn't even let me buy a snack for her! She wanted me to spend her money, not mine, and the compromise we came to was that I would fetch the biscuits, but with her 5 bucks, while she worked on her reading exercises. Sweet kid. ********************************************************* It's funny how easy it is not to speak of something. You skirt around it like a pothole on a highway, and you learn how to safeguard every word that leaves your mouth. Discretion becomes a habit, and after awhile you don't have to watch yourself so hawkishly. It wears you down, though, all the caution. Not because it is difficult (it only is at the beginning), but because it is never-ending. And many times you will find yourself wishing you could spew everything out in one full force gush of emotion.  But you can't. held

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