Evil Stepsisters, Witches and Letting Go of a Fantasy

Fairy tales happen but once upon a time and in a land far far away. When it comes knocking at your door, in this time and place, well, it's disorienting. The perfect prince in your doorstep. And there you are, a maid, in emotional or physical tatters. Hardly the beautiful princess-in-waiting, where with a flick of a twig, a change of costume and you're suddenly the fairest of them all.
When it happened to me, I had no fairy godmother nor could I talk to rats and birds and so I faced the prince in my scullery maid costume. I looked more like an evil step sister and now I'm not so sure if I read the casting right. But there we were, him and I.
I thought it was a fairy tale. We had our moments.
...
I thought I could talk about it now. But as it turns out, my metaphors are mixed up and I can't really go on.
Suffice it to say for now that for the longest time I thought we had something going but then I realized that it was all in my mind, my imagination, my dreams and at times, my nightmares.
So I'm finally letting go of the balloon's string. And I'm watching it fly away from me. Into the heavens, the stars, the celestials, where I thought I resided.
Fly away from me little wing. Fly towards the heights of your dreams.
Never come back. Because when you do, I might not be able to let you go. I might lock you up in a tower. Or maybe the scullery maid and the prince, maybe they could really have a happy ending.
But for now, go. I hope to never think of you again.

Independently Sick

I'm trying to get the contact info of Banderas' version of Puss in Boots. I realize I have to learn to make that face that makes people go 'aww..'
To cut short. I'm sick today. Feverish, ear inflammation. Not a very hip feeling at all. Rather like having a pig's ass stuck on my ear and the pig just keeps pushing more of itself in. Hurts a lot. I'm hoping the aggressive little pig doesn't have to fart or need to do something far worse anytime soon.
A Puss in Boots aww face would perhaps make someone send me flowers and offer me a ride home. Tough luck as I live in the boondocks and the last time I got flowers, it was from my dad on a Valentine's day eons ago.
Independence doesn't sound so lovely times like this. But I can always buy myself flowers and flag a cab home. Yeah. Such fun.

At Last, It's a pen!

I'm brain dead today. Christmas lethargy is settling in.
:D Bliss.
But. Leigh gave me a Limited Edition Rotring ArtPen 1.1mm!!!
Best Christmas gift to date!
It has definitely pulled my fingers off of the keyboard.
It's blue. I'm naming it Bluebeard. Beware nosy female pens!
I need to buy ink! I want sepia ink.
And parchment paper. Really I'd go for some good scribbling paper.
Anybody want to give me a moleskin for Christmas?
:D Bliss.
Going out in a bit to shop for holiday clothes.
:D Gee whiz bliss.
I did a happy dance in the hallway earlier.
Pictures of Bluebeard and his work will be posted later.
Happy Christmas everyone.

Es la dia!

For the past week the office has been a big bag of suffocating butterflies. Well today, after our staff meeting, the big ugly bag was opened to a day of good weather.
The news about the expansion and consequent reorganization of the existing order (very much in fulfilment of the latest Ad Congress prophecy for a new order of things) had been spawning insecurity of position especially to a greenhorn like me.
But today! Today Salome had dropped her final veil and the face of a stern but promising future was revealed. We've reached the goal for this year, surpassed the expectations, and now have a higher wall to scale for the next.
14th month pay and GC's instead of a backbreaking Christmas basket were announced and handed out. And the staff meeting ended with general cheer.
Es la dia para comenzamos a celebrar! Finalmente! Feliz Navidad a mis amigos y mis amigas, tambien a mi familia y mis parientes!

Bank System Down = One Lousy Weekend

Yes, I know, I am not one who goes out on weekends but well what if someone invites me, like my all-time major-league crush, or my hottie neighbor who keeps smoking in front of my glassed gallery, or my friends whom I haven't seen for more than a month now!, or me just feeling like doing some serious weekend shopping?
Development Bank of the Philippines or DBP stopped developing since December 5th. They've been stagnant ever since. All you can do is deposit to your account.
Argh! I'm too upset to tell the whole deal. Grr...

Tense

I get tense with tenses.
I have a different view of time.
It could also be that I am a reckless writer.
Recklessly coursing through time
Piercing the diaphanous limits
Of past, present, future
Progressive, perfect
Time.
Tense.

Quits of Wisdom

When I have no idea of what to write my fingers kindly begin with 'there' as if pointing me to something right in front of my face, dangling like a snake from an apple tree, a quip of wisdom, which at the moment is seductively hiding in the weaves of ether and is beyond my mind's grasp.
There, there. My fingers strike the keys with familiarity, muscle memory, and an eager dog's tail wag. There the ther t there are. On and on, typing and deleting. I play a game of charades with my fingers, they must have their own consciousness, my brain must have delegated quite ingeniously. I am not good at charades, the last time I played it I answered 'The Longest Lilo and Stitch' instead of 'The Longest Yard' and I had to go through ChikkaStop, ChikkaLord, ChikkaGo before I reached Chicago. The tail wag has now lost intensity.
There, there. It has now become a pat in the back. The ether has thickened and the snake has slithered into its depths; the sinister whiteness of the virtual page is the evil twin to the pallor of my brain.
A cup of coffee. There, there.
There's always tomorrow to start writing.

This is me! Oh dear, I wonder what happened to that adorable look I used to have.

Running to the Heavens

It was the night after my friends have left from a night of drunken revelry. Yes that sentence did have too many nights and it suits me fine. For now I pray for more nights. More stars. More of the airy feeling when I look up and find myself to be a part of something big.
On that night I didn't want to stay home, my friends' voices haunted the halls and their footsteps trod in the shadows. I pulled into lose pants, shirt and rubbershoes and pumped the ground away from the house that had suddenly become so silent, desolate, wanting poetry.
I did not care much for poetry that night. I hit the road repeatedly, in time with the trance music thumping in my ears. Past houses, perturbed dogs, and old man's thoughts. It was 9 o'clock on a Saturday and the village streets were lulled to sleep by the cool wind of December.
I entered streets, weaved in and out of passages and then I was on a hill, and then I found out I was lost, and then... that I found Happy in the oscurra. The village grew, was growing. I was on a hill with but one house braving the darkness, beyond that are trees of deceiving numbers, hoping to instill fear in the hearts of the moneyed homeless. These trees took darkness in their arms and sang to it. I looked out from the hill, down to the trees, further down to the lighted city, twirling dots of color, gleam and gloom. I looked up beyond that solitary house's roof and found the celestials shine kindly on me.
I'd like to think that for a moment the stars took notice of me, an infinitely small and blunt dot staring adoringly at them.
After rounding the hill twice I am once again lost. I ran having no other options and knowing that I couldn't possibly be lost inside my own village.
At home I promised to run the same route the following day and noted that I should bring a camera. I have yet to come back to that hill. But I still have the stars in my memory, and Happy still hovers near.