being a very talkative person...
when you get me started on a topic that i might have an idea about, i turn into a runaway freight train en route to canada: i've become difficult to stop. and if you talk about something i have no knowledge about, i turn on one of my complexes and suddenly, i know which part of my life that certain topic of yours has something to do with.

i'm not sure what writing block is. but i think i'm feeling it now. i tried to write about something today, just now, about even just the movies i've seen this weekend and the events i've been to, but somehow, when i tried a different approach to writing about it, other than my usual straightforward manner, the story comes out flat, dimensionless, tiresome, boring. when the event is precisely just the opposite.

it reminds me of a four-corner stop in the middle of nowhere. it doesn't matter which direction you take, because all of them look alike anyways. you might as well choose one.

which is troubling to me because if that's the state of my mind, then there's no reason for me to describe what happened this weekend, at all. it was fulfilling to me, why else should you care?

it reminds me of bedtime. i tried to hand write my thoughts this weekend, and i just about fell to pieces. i wonder what that means. i told a friend over late-night dessert that it's incredibly great to be finally talking about life here, as opposed to life in the philippines, what it was like in DC, if we're going out west in january, where should i allot my spare paid vacations this year. it's finally great to not be talking about drama in the homeland, and drama in our own houses, but drama between friends that's beyond mere silly stupid gossip.

(ahaha. no offense, but i'm extremely uncomfortable practicing gossip. hooray for y'alls who like it. ;-) wish i could join your revelry, but now isn't my time to contribute to what appears to me as the utter crumbling of someone's world and perceptions.)

a couple blog friends have started a tradition in their posts to thank something that's happend to them that day, both mundane and magical. well, thank you for jorge luis borges, gabriel garcia marquez, annie proulx, emile zola, cornelia funke, writers who take their readership seriously, performers who respect their audience, club music, nonalcoholic beverages, perpetual lines of good food, incessant leftovers - both in food and jokes and political tirades; thank you for lampshades and ridiculously thick blankets that turn into lifesavers in the dead of december, for christmas lights that inadvertently take the place of inadequate streetlamps, for comfy blue sweaters, seamless rubber bracelets, black pony tail holders, cell phones that work and loyal purple gloves and sweater scarves and hats that do the job.

thank you for lots and lots of mirth and laughter. thank you for the quiet, thoughtful afters.

thank you for the end of semester/quarters. for me, lack of required readings mean space and freedom to attack the books and the food and the movies and the trips that i want. thank you for deadlines and time constraints, however, for they remind us of budgets and unnecessary indulgences. ahahaha. we're not rich, yanno. yay! thank you for listening. thank you for telling. thank you for reading. good night.
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