Warp speeds and Hiatus.
I hate it when life kicks into warp speed.
A fiend of mine commented on how much I've changed in the past few months. He said I used to exude an aura of being casual and laid back, like nothing can bog me down. Now he says "haggardo" every time he sees me.
So many, many things have happened since after that bit of theater work. School started. Holding down two classes this semester-- my last semester, hopefully. I started in university in 2004. Deep in my heart, I know I'm delayed for graduation by a year. But counting off with my fingers though, I figure I'm in my sixth year already. I'm incredibly bad at math.
I walk down the familiar streets of my campus and no one knows me. It's like the opposite of Cheers. Most my friends have gone up and out into the real world. It's depressing.
My former editor at the campus paper passed the figurative thinking cap and truncheon to me. Heaven knows why. I'm lazy, my spelling is bad, most bright ideas come to me when I'm under the influence, I'm bad role model for young students, etcetera, etcetera. But more to the point, I'm not fit for newspaper writing. I decided to apply for the campus paper to get material for (hopefully) literary endeavors. Then they put me in charge of a whole section.
A large chunk of why this blog has been traded for microblogging at Facebook is because most topics I'd want to focus on get covered by the culture section of the campus paper. I don't see the point of writing something about the EDSA 1 replay or the National Artist fiasco on this blog when my section mates and I will have to EXHAUST THE FUCK out of those issues. It'll be better written on the newspaper too, compared to the profanity-riddled gutter dialect I use here.
Rackets, rackets, rackets on the side. Freelancing and shit. Money troubles to the tune of the smallest violin playing in the background. Eating up my spare time when I'm not reading or editing.
Then there's writing. Always writing. Writing outside the newspaper, cobbling up scenes and characters and storylines until it all makes sense somehow. An avenue for the profanity-riddled gutter dialect that comes to me naturally. Let's leave it at that.
A glance at my last few blog entries makes me cringe at the amount of activism I publish here. It's not something that I want, but it's not something that can be helped. We live in a shitty society run by villains and remaining silent isn't an option. I'm afraid that as long as things stay this way, my blog entries might continue to get angrier, redder by the post.
This is not the life I ordered. But hey, it's mine now. Stiff upper lip and all. I'll come back when I'm cool again.
A fiend of mine commented on how much I've changed in the past few months. He said I used to exude an aura of being casual and laid back, like nothing can bog me down. Now he says "haggardo" every time he sees me.
So many, many things have happened since after that bit of theater work. School started. Holding down two classes this semester-- my last semester, hopefully. I started in university in 2004. Deep in my heart, I know I'm delayed for graduation by a year. But counting off with my fingers though, I figure I'm in my sixth year already. I'm incredibly bad at math.
I walk down the familiar streets of my campus and no one knows me. It's like the opposite of Cheers. Most my friends have gone up and out into the real world. It's depressing.
My former editor at the campus paper passed the figurative thinking cap and truncheon to me. Heaven knows why. I'm lazy, my spelling is bad, most bright ideas come to me when I'm under the influence, I'm bad role model for young students, etcetera, etcetera. But more to the point, I'm not fit for newspaper writing. I decided to apply for the campus paper to get material for (hopefully) literary endeavors. Then they put me in charge of a whole section.
A large chunk of why this blog has been traded for microblogging at Facebook is because most topics I'd want to focus on get covered by the culture section of the campus paper. I don't see the point of writing something about the EDSA 1 replay or the National Artist fiasco on this blog when my section mates and I will have to EXHAUST THE FUCK out of those issues. It'll be better written on the newspaper too, compared to the profanity-riddled gutter dialect I use here.
Rackets, rackets, rackets on the side. Freelancing and shit. Money troubles to the tune of the smallest violin playing in the background. Eating up my spare time when I'm not reading or editing.
Then there's writing. Always writing. Writing outside the newspaper, cobbling up scenes and characters and storylines until it all makes sense somehow. An avenue for the profanity-riddled gutter dialect that comes to me naturally. Let's leave it at that.
A glance at my last few blog entries makes me cringe at the amount of activism I publish here. It's not something that I want, but it's not something that can be helped. We live in a shitty society run by villains and remaining silent isn't an option. I'm afraid that as long as things stay this way, my blog entries might continue to get angrier, redder by the post.
This is not the life I ordered. But hey, it's mine now. Stiff upper lip and all. I'll come back when I'm cool again.