13.08.04; Futuristic Friday; 22:13
No. of sickly colleagues: 2. Unfortunately, sandwiching me. Social absentia: Suqui’s in Tomas Morato. Nibbler: Asan si Lorna? Hindi kumpleto! Bad news: My Beautiful Yogi is smitten. Worse news: With his boyfriend. Wrong guy/gay for 2004: 2, so far. Complaint of the Month: Brother Lee says, “Bakit Beastie Boys ang Artist of the Month?!” NOTE: Censored for everyone’s sanity.
What else could be a more fitting conclusion for 10 consecutive days of binge computing (I spent my rest days doing e-mail back up) than indulging on cinematic remedy, book fair and sodium and glucose overload? Thank you, shdwbxr, for listening and for the tarot reading.
At times, going to bookstores is a masochistic trudge. Aside from seeing unbelievable tag prices, I see better, meatier versions of my previous purchases. I’m no horndog for hardbound. But when I spotted the hardbound copy of the latest autobiography I owned, my palms nearly bled in desire. The texture is more seductive. The photos argue that imagination is overrated. I wanted to cry.
Going to the book fair made me wish melancolia is already home. Our correspondences made me hunger for boxes of Pen&Ink and the ensuing conversations about literature, films, music and homesickness. Being in the receiving end wouldn’t be that engaging.
That excitement did not keep me elevated for too long. Guess what stomped the springing clover on my ground that day? The tandem of raisin-sized brains disguised as two female teenagers typing with their tongues out in front of their Friendster accounts. Their idea of motion is shifting from their gapeseed mode to looking at the roof as if they were composing a world-changing paragraph. If I were attentive enough, I would have stopped shdwbxr from snapping their photo.
Yesterday, I dragged Hubs to my downward dance to emotional eating and perusal of old missives. The bitterness left our lower lips, curving the contours to a wide smile. It was nice to have company, I realized.