"Man, I feel sorry for her."
"What? Why?"
"Because she was so sick over her trip! You know you've got it bad when you're leaning over a toilet crying, sobbing 'I hate this country!'"
...
Yeah, I guess that could be an indicator. :) I've converted 2 possible skeptics into can't-stop-watching-it HEROES fans this weekend. Yesssssssssssssssssssss!
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
Quote of the Moment:
"I hate those bums who don't have to work but live well. My babies are going to start working as soon as I give birth to them!"
"Haha--my babies are going to stay home and be nerds like me!"
"Oh yeah? Well my babies are going to beat up on your babies for being nerds!"
"Oh yeah? Well then later my babies are going to the ones to employ your babies when you send them to work!"
...
Ah, lunchtime at the office. I miss Pamelam, and the Bod isn't even supposed to WANT babies...unless to pit against other babies for baby-fights, apparently. Hahaha.
"Haha--my babies are going to stay home and be nerds like me!"
"Oh yeah? Well my babies are going to beat up on your babies for being nerds!"
"Oh yeah? Well then later my babies are going to the ones to employ your babies when you send them to work!"
...
Ah, lunchtime at the office. I miss Pamelam, and the Bod isn't even supposed to WANT babies...unless to pit against other babies for baby-fights, apparently. Hahaha.
Growing up
Separated by cities, countries, and circumstance, it feels like the JFC is reaching a new level in the land of relationships. The counterparts we once sought in close proximity have now been found at distances seemingly unfathomable. Yet through perseverance, rationality, and a sheer yearning, these bonds blossom, grow, and strengthen because none of us are willing to let go of what we are sure is so good.
Personalities, appearances, finances, morals, friendships, tastes, families, directions, motivations, dreams, realities--all of these on top of distance (actual and metaphoric) have all been put to the test, and yet here we all stand, ready for the next hurdle to be thrown our ways. Where before at the first signs of weakness the instinct was to turn tail and run--not out of fear but out of deeming it not worth it--suddenly the act is to take up arms and fight through.
Growing up? Maturing? Or something else? A little bit of all is the easy answer. But I think (fingers crossed) that this just may be the first time the JFC has really found something; those worth fighting for.
Personalities, appearances, finances, morals, friendships, tastes, families, directions, motivations, dreams, realities--all of these on top of distance (actual and metaphoric) have all been put to the test, and yet here we all stand, ready for the next hurdle to be thrown our ways. Where before at the first signs of weakness the instinct was to turn tail and run--not out of fear but out of deeming it not worth it--suddenly the act is to take up arms and fight through.
Growing up? Maturing? Or something else? A little bit of all is the easy answer. But I think (fingers crossed) that this just may be the first time the JFC has really found something; those worth fighting for.
The Opposite of a Vicious-Cycle
After I post I watch people read my blog which makes me want to read my blog which makes me want to post about my blog which makes people read my blog which makes me watch them read my blog which makes me want to read my blog which...
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Rinse, refresh, repeat
When having doubts (even when they're not your own), turn up the music and clean something. Even if the doubt remains, the dirt won't stand a chance.
...
Perhaps it's a good thing that mom and dad have been monopolizing the computers at home tonight. Otherwise I would have been a slave to the screen, willing the pages to change their messages with each frantic refresh. Instead, it's been pen to paper (actually, pencil, since the ink ran dry and I needed to write) and the pages have just been flying. I feel like I just escaped.
...
The water pours down onto her head and over her body as she replays the conversations of the night, searching amongst the words for a clue--a hint. She finds nothing. She turns the shower off but remains a moment to linger in the warmth of the steam. She considers that topics could have been treacherous terrain, but nothing insurmountable.
Stepping out, she wraps herself in a towel and heads to change, still puzzling to herself, not able to shake the feeling of something awry. Adding up everything at face value, it was completely normal night; kiss hello, shared dinner, conversation, close proximities, held hands, ride home, and kiss goodbye with promises to see each other again soon. And yet the notion that his mind left halfway through dinner won't leave her.
Without any reasoning board other than herself, she decides to chalk it up to over-thought and hyper-active intuition. Despite her doubt, she trusts him and his reassurances; why shouldn't she?
It's nearly midnight when her phone rings.
"Hello?"
"Hey, sorry; I know it's late."
"No worries--I was up."
"I figured."
"Yeah."
"Still want to do drinks?"
"Actually, yes, I do. I need to stop thinking."
"Uh, sure."
"I'll tell you about it when meet up. I just need to you tell me I'm crazy."
"No problem. Be there soon. In the meantime--'you're crazy.'"
"Thanks. See you."
"Yep."
...
How is it that we can find water so cleansing even when that which we want to wash is intangible, like a feeling, a thought, or a dirty deed?
(Okay, so Lady Macbeth wasn't so lucky, but she immediately came to mind as I came up with that cleansing idea.)
...
Perhaps it's a good thing that mom and dad have been monopolizing the computers at home tonight. Otherwise I would have been a slave to the screen, willing the pages to change their messages with each frantic refresh. Instead, it's been pen to paper (actually, pencil, since the ink ran dry and I needed to write) and the pages have just been flying. I feel like I just escaped.
...
The water pours down onto her head and over her body as she replays the conversations of the night, searching amongst the words for a clue--a hint. She finds nothing. She turns the shower off but remains a moment to linger in the warmth of the steam. She considers that topics could have been treacherous terrain, but nothing insurmountable.
Stepping out, she wraps herself in a towel and heads to change, still puzzling to herself, not able to shake the feeling of something awry. Adding up everything at face value, it was completely normal night; kiss hello, shared dinner, conversation, close proximities, held hands, ride home, and kiss goodbye with promises to see each other again soon. And yet the notion that his mind left halfway through dinner won't leave her.
Without any reasoning board other than herself, she decides to chalk it up to over-thought and hyper-active intuition. Despite her doubt, she trusts him and his reassurances; why shouldn't she?
It's nearly midnight when her phone rings.
"Hello?"
"Hey, sorry; I know it's late."
"No worries--I was up."
"I figured."
"Yeah."
"Still want to do drinks?"
"Actually, yes, I do. I need to stop thinking."
"Uh, sure."
"I'll tell you about it when meet up. I just need to you tell me I'm crazy."
"No problem. Be there soon. In the meantime--'you're crazy.'"
"Thanks. See you."
"Yep."
...
How is it that we can find water so cleansing even when that which we want to wash is intangible, like a feeling, a thought, or a dirty deed?
"Out, damned spot! out, I say! [...] What, will these hands ne’er be clean?"
--Lady Macbeth, The Tragedy of Macbeth, Act V, Scene i
(Okay, so Lady Macbeth wasn't so lucky, but she immediately came to mind as I came up with that cleansing idea.)
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
No food for you!
Starve a fever, eh? Oh I starved it alright. Monday night Pho started off alright, but as the night wore on, my body started to feel it. What had begun as a sporadic cough grew into a constant, body-shaking hack, accompanied by a complete congestion, and a total body-ache. By the time I got home and into bed, my body was starting to heat up exponentially. Morning was no better.
I was practically forced to shower in order to attempt to lower my body temperature, and despite popping the adult dosage of 2 extra-strength Tylenol, hack, congestion, and body-ache persisted. I'm not quite sure how I managed, but I survived a full day at work (though the hope had been to leave at 3--damn sales department!) and a gruelling hour-long trek home in traffic caused by the freak snow-storm.
As soon as I got in the door, I began collecting myself and all that I needed to be in bed with me. I climbed the stairs to my room and stripped out of my work clothes and straight into jammies. I crawled into bed and that's where I remained for 16 straight hours. Sixteen. Both mother and father made visits to my bedside offering me mugs of tea and warm water. I recall an attempt to return a few messages, and answering a brief phone call. Other than those and 2 trips to pee, I was bed-ridden.
I recall being both hot and cold throughout my consciousness, though regardless of how I felt, I refused to emerge from my duvet. I remember during bouts of semi-consciousness that I could hear myself softly groaning as I tossed and turned my head--my body was useless dead-weight. It was bad.
Having only had lunch the day before, and then having slept through entirely to the next day, I missed a couple of meals. Even when mother and father had tried to lure me out of bed with congee, I'd had to turn it down. So, the next morning, needless to say, I woke a little hungry. But my fever had broken, and despite the persisting cough and minimal congestion, I was better.
The consequences of starving your fever to get over it? You eat like a mofo afterwards. No joke, I haven't stopped eating since morning. A whole pot of congee, pizza, pasta, salad, dinner (chicken, rice, salad), bowl of noodles, apple, papaya, mango, and some chips. Eff.
Señorita told me that it was a good sign that I was eating so much; sick people have no appetite--healthy people have a healthy appetite. I told her it was nice of her to try to make myself feel better about eating myself fat.
I was practically forced to shower in order to attempt to lower my body temperature, and despite popping the adult dosage of 2 extra-strength Tylenol, hack, congestion, and body-ache persisted. I'm not quite sure how I managed, but I survived a full day at work (though the hope had been to leave at 3--damn sales department!) and a gruelling hour-long trek home in traffic caused by the freak snow-storm.
As soon as I got in the door, I began collecting myself and all that I needed to be in bed with me. I climbed the stairs to my room and stripped out of my work clothes and straight into jammies. I crawled into bed and that's where I remained for 16 straight hours. Sixteen. Both mother and father made visits to my bedside offering me mugs of tea and warm water. I recall an attempt to return a few messages, and answering a brief phone call. Other than those and 2 trips to pee, I was bed-ridden.
I recall being both hot and cold throughout my consciousness, though regardless of how I felt, I refused to emerge from my duvet. I remember during bouts of semi-consciousness that I could hear myself softly groaning as I tossed and turned my head--my body was useless dead-weight. It was bad.
Having only had lunch the day before, and then having slept through entirely to the next day, I missed a couple of meals. Even when mother and father had tried to lure me out of bed with congee, I'd had to turn it down. So, the next morning, needless to say, I woke a little hungry. But my fever had broken, and despite the persisting cough and minimal congestion, I was better.
The consequences of starving your fever to get over it? You eat like a mofo afterwards. No joke, I haven't stopped eating since morning. A whole pot of congee, pizza, pasta, salad, dinner (chicken, rice, salad), bowl of noodles, apple, papaya, mango, and some chips. Eff.
Señorita told me that it was a good sign that I was eating so much; sick people have no appetite--healthy people have a healthy appetite. I told her it was nice of her to try to make myself feel better about eating myself fat.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Hahaha...not funny.
Sooooo...having a good time, yukking it up over some Starbucks when my friend says, mid-laugh "...hahahahaha...oh, I'm going to puke...hahahahhaha..." which I of course find even more funny which only prompts me to laugh more and enjoy the moment even more completely...
...until I found out he really did feel like he was going to puke.
"You know when I said I thought I was going to puke earlier, I really was..."
Ugh. My brad (not a typo).
...until I found out he really did feel like he was going to puke.
"You know when I said I thought I was going to puke earlier, I really was..."
Ugh. My brad (not a typo).
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