Saturday, January 27, 2007

Bright na kaha ko?

This month has been a killer. This year, I have not sat down to talk and laugh and gossip and bum around with my friends. This year, I have convinced myself that I am destined to be a writer. This month, and the previous month, I haven't had the luxury of a full eight-or seven- hours of sleep. This month, I have been spending more time reading--than sleeping--in the library. This month has made my face look five or ten years older. This month, I interviewed seven people for one article. This month, I have spent many quiet nights doubting my capability to write. This week, I went to the top of Maa and had my recollection and convinced myself that I am too tired to recollect bad memories and share bad memories and cry over bad memories. This month, I sat in front of the PC for thirty straight hours typing away and then hitting backspace, and then typing away again. This month my eyes have been feeling unusually dry and irritated, either because of lack of sleep or stress or the warm baths I have been taking. This month I have hated myself for being such an awkward, quiet, passive, uninteresting, deceitful classmate. This month's stress has given me two large zits and a massive breakout over my right cheek. This month, I have see-sawed between feeling invincible--even thinking I'm destined for greatness--and feeling like worthless sh*t. This month has taught me hard lessons in setting priorities. This month has shown me the consequences of choosing play over work. This month has made me decide to stop making excuses for myself. This month has done everything except kill me. So I guess I must go on.


This afternoon, I went to Envy Me and got a P150 cut that, otherwise, would've only cost me P50 at 5E's House of Beauty in Acacia.

I stepped out of the salon, crossed the street, and went to NCCC Mall. I immediately proceeded to the nameless used bookstore at the first floor. Turns out, they were having a P35 (on selected titles) book sale. Yay. I bought a book by Virginia Woolf, partly to satiate my curiosity over "The Hours" and "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" Also, I bought my third Garrison Keillor ("Love Me"), and this other book, "Mendel's Dwarf" by Simon Mawer--a bit pricey for a used book (at P120), but it was in semi-new condition, and the reviews seemed very promising--so I just had to buy it. I also saw this yellowed book of poems by a guy named Forest. I do not know Forest, but I wanted to buy the book nonetheless because the book was 2007 minus 1931 years old (I entrust the calculations to you dear reader, since I am in no mood to spoon-feed), as the owner wrote on the blank leaf herself. However, I decided against it, since I'm not really a "poems-y" kind of person.

Yes, I have begun the habit of hoarding used books. It is my other vice, aside from splurging on trans-fat-laden food. Of course, I've only read about a handful of the 50++ previously-owned books that litter my room. I just like seeing the messy, yellowed, stack of them--not to mention the addictive dust-and-wood smell of used books. Ahhh, sniff, sniff...and sneeze.

Nah, I just like how it gives me an air of intellect.