R.I.P. mga anak naming hindi nabuo (or hindi ginawa, whichever sounds more appropriate… or wholesome).
This is probably the only time of the year when I am allowing myself to act a little more like a normal human being who experienced a terrible heartache, or a bad case of explosive diarrhea.
And when facing that one day in a year which you dread the most, it is best to be productive and cram all of your deadline in that 24-hour schedule. Or sleep the entire day and wake up the following morning.
Unfortunately, since I am not a comatose patient and therefore cannot endure snoozing for 24 hours straight (although I tried, I really did, but even sleeping at past 2 in the morning didn’t stop me from waking up at 11 a.m. today), I settled for the first option: be productive until my brain literally hurt all over.
So far, I’ve finished proofreading kuya Jun Balde’s new book 60zens (people, if you want a good laugh, you seriously have to get a copy of this book when it comes out during the MIBF in September… and I’m not plugging it just because he’s a friend), finished an episode of my radio drama script Ang Huling Sayaw, and finished more than 10 chapters of the book Life Expectancy, which I’ve been wanting to read for days now but have been to busy to actually open it, let alone scan a few pages. And it’s only 5:30 p.m. With a bit of dumb luck (and sheer perseverance on my part), I can finish another episode for Ang Huling Sayaw before midnight, while squeezing in a few more chapters of Life Expectancy in between. Who knows, I just might be in the mood to re-read 60zens for a final sweep of typographical errors.
Ah yes, the joys of trying to escape reality (and the possibility of depression or an impromptu marathon session of Dexter episodes, which more likely than not will put me in a scary, serial-killer type of mood).
I pray that August 12 passes by as painlessly (and as uneventfully) as it could, as it should.
(I surely hope he doesn’t suddenly call me out of sheer nostalgia, or just to remind me of our countless pathetic attempts to patch things up, only to watch things crumble before our very eyes for the nth time.)
And yes. R.I.P. to all the children he and I never got the chance to make, because, ermmm, technically, I don’t plan on making babies until after my wedding day.
(And if you’re still wondering what the hell I’m talking about, August 12 is supposed to be my and my first boyfriend (now ex)’s anniversary (there’s a grammatical error in there somewhere, but I’m too tired to care right now). Yes. The only time of the year I’m allowing myself to be sappy. Deal with it.)
