Slow day

(Note: How slow is this day? I initially typed 'Sloe' for the title. Can I say 'schmoe'?)

The most bizaare thing I've encountered since I started blogging.

I type in my blog's address and what emerges on my screen? A site promoting bible materials. What's even more bizaare is a link to 'The Sound of Satan.' THE SOUND OF SATAN? People, could you try 'The Sound of God' first? Or are you satistified with the ubiquitous thunderous 'voice' of God that is the staple of biblical movies and animated shorts?

Freaky these people.

I've been thinking about my April 1 entry and I'm sort of half-regretting it and half-celebrating it. The fact that up until that time I'm still thinking about that whole affair (and the person) and the fact that hey, I'm several degrees less emotionally involved with the matter.

K. patiently reminds me over and over to NOT OVERREAD men. Overreading is THE disease of intelligent women, so she says. She said it, not me. I'm just quoting her. Hey, quips K., if men can't understand themselves, why should we women even try? A promising point, I say.

But what happened to intuition? What happened to...oh hell. I have to admit I belong to that great section of women who, upon seeing a really attractive (not necessarily physically) guy, has, if given the chance to spend an hour with said guy, would have already: dated the guy, slept with the guy, fought with the guy, kissed and made up with the guy, got engaged with the guy, married the guy and have marriage with the guy annulled. All for the grand total of one hour. Sixty minutes.

Ah, what some people would do to kill time. Or obliterate whatever shred of common sense they have.

This is the portion of every posting session that I loath - remembering the pseudo-brilliant/quirky/deep and insightful/utterly mundane details that I mentally mark under 'Must include in next blog post'. That is, if I get to remember them. That fell through with the aborted Donsol chronicles. For my friends, I suppose the pictures already sufficed.

But first things first.

For today, I cursed the looong Holy Week break, to which I blame the following: slow processing of my credit card extension, the long and overdrawn processing of my travel permit, which resulted to me being unable to incorporate the travel tax exemption to my final plane ticket bill, etc.etc. But to be candid about it, I really, truly blame the slow pace of the processing of my papers to - tada! - Mighty. The nickname to this wonderful person in my academic life that bopis tries not to use because he is, in the first place, NOT MIGHTY. Not a shred. Not even a speck in his hideous being. Sometimes (as in 'sometimes when I wash the dishes' type of sometimes) I still call him vile. In my head, of course. I've never referred to anyone in my life (I honestly say this) as vile. Sure, I've called some people stupid (in department stores) and fucking idiots (when I drive), but never vile. So does that make him special? Lord, I hope not. Now look what I have done. Devote an entire fucking paragraph to that - all together now - vile person. This is not good. Even worse than The Boy. (Amy proceeds to bonk herself in the head)

Eeeeenaaaaffffff!!!!!!!

Sigh.

Two dreams that I have managed to salvage from perpetual forgetfulness. First (and I still hesitate to mention this because it will point to something about me), I dreamed that after I took a dump, I noticed that my poop were, I swear, utter logs. Dotted with sesame seeds. I am NOT joking.

The vision is so unforgettable that I managed to recount it in this post.

The second dream (just last night) is about an old high school classmate (I have to remind myself to do a blog entry about 'old high school classmates'. They seem to be a recurring theme in my life lately. Not that I don't welcome it. Hahaha.) who went to live in New Zealand a year or two after high school graduation. Apparently, he went home for a vacation and we saw each other and we hugged until I turned blue. (Alright, the face-turning-to-blue was an embellishment.) That dream was courtesy of a butter sandwich consumed at around 4 am.

About the two people I chatted with last Sunday. I wasn't able to mention the other one, but it was such a perfect example of serendipity. I was going through my yahoo mail and chanced upon T.'s fiancee's forwarded mail. Now, I usually don't click on such things, but of course since I already got to this point in the story, one would have to assume that I did. Anyways, I click on the message, didn't read the message, as expected. But just as I was about to delete it, I glanced at the mailing list and I see an old friend online. At first, I wondered how my friend's e-mail address ended up on my friend's fiancee's address book. Only thinking about that discrepancy for about three seconds, I clicked on the happy, smiling yellow Yahoo icon.

The window was open for about a minute.

Then J. answered.

The last time I met up with J. was around May of last year. It was at the height of my preparations for my thesis defense and I was really on edge. As always, she manages to lift my spirits without getting all religious and stuff. One would think, upon meeting J., that she's fragile or prissy, or something in between. I came to learn, not long after my first meeting with her, that she's made of stronger stuff. Which is always the best arsenal any person (especially a woman) could have.

I was so happy that I chanced upon her online because I lost her number and she seldom checks her mail (to my knowledge) that I immediately asked for her mobile phone number. Then I ask the usual things - how's the mom, dad and brothers.

Then I ask how's her boyfriend.

J: It's been a long time, huh?

She proceeds to tell me that after six years, she and the boyfriend are no longer together. Since August of last year. Only managed to tell people about it in December. I assured her I didn't want details, but she did anyway. I got the message that he broke her heart.

And they had plans of getting married.

Now, if catukayo were to hear this story, I can immediately guess a corresponding 'Hmph!', followed by a snort. I would probably do the same thing too, knowing my unwavering stance on marriage. But for one moment, my heart melted a little for J.

From the tone of her responses, I sensed that she has come to a point that she can tell the story. Even the fact that they broke up. But I could detect a tinge of sadness. Strangely though, I also detected a tinge of resillience.

(Note: Now this is the portion of the story where I would have to clarify that this entry is NOT brought to you by Dove. It is also NOT sponsored by Globe Girlfriends and it is also NOT sponsored by those shameless credit cards companies who come up with women-only credit card programs.)

We then realized that we really haven't seen each other in a year. That so many things happened within that one year. Me going to Vermont on account of that thesis that, almost one year ago, I was getting depressed about. J. going to the US with her parents, partly to try doing her thesis there (she's a marine biologist). I miss that sweet girl.

Around 30 seconds has lapsed since that last sentence.

Sigh.

My pregnant sighs.

There goes another 30 seconds.

I better end this post now.