The week that is the ninth circle of hell
ALTP has forced me to commute from Katipunan to Marikina by myself. This I have to do twice a week--Friday and Saturday afternoon, of all days. Six hours a week I am to sit with a pile of unused Japanese 2006 planners surrounded by mountains of papers, scratch and otherwise, while the rumbling sounds of heavy machines treating paper pulp serve as the musci while we work. Brown scrap here, white paper there, leather-like covers and plastics in this box. I'm surprised I still have cut-less hands, what with all the paper we tear out from the planners.
Japanese planners are so interesting. All of them have thin address books tucked at the back cover of the planner. Some planners and calendars have stickers. Stickers for business, which I can't read because it was in Japanese, and I can't decipher the picture as well. Some were for personal use: Date (heart), Sports (sports icon), Friends (people), and even... Period (something that looked like a moon but that does not). The Japanese think of everything.
It's eight in the morning on a Sunday and I'm supposed to be sleeping still up to eleven maybe. But no, I still have to blog. I mean, study. Yes, I still have to study. My philo oral exam is scheduled for tomorrow morning, chem postlab on Tuesday, child psych report and psych testing exam on wednesday (if you were a teacher, would you schedule a deadline for a major paper and a long test at the same time?), and the dreaded chem long test on thursday. ALTP on Friday and Saturday. And I rest on the seventh day.
My stomach is beginning to complain that my body is now running on reserve glucose from my liver instead of nutrients from a hearty and healthy breakfast. Something I still remember from physio psych, though I haven't a clue why I do. Still, have to feed my body, otherwise I wouldn't be able to think why the traumatisms from life make us reflect and why I have to be delivered from my solitude of being by the Other, for which I am infinitely responsible. And yet we find that "the true life is elsewhere". Huh? Arthur Rimbaud was one serious 18-year-old when he wrote that. He was gay, according to our philo class, but Tiff said he looked like Brad Pitt.
But I bet he'd prefer Matt Damon over Jennifer and Angelina.
Japanese planners are so interesting. All of them have thin address books tucked at the back cover of the planner. Some planners and calendars have stickers. Stickers for business, which I can't read because it was in Japanese, and I can't decipher the picture as well. Some were for personal use: Date (heart), Sports (sports icon), Friends (people), and even... Period (something that looked like a moon but that does not). The Japanese think of everything.
It's eight in the morning on a Sunday and I'm supposed to be sleeping still up to eleven maybe. But no, I still have to blog. I mean, study. Yes, I still have to study. My philo oral exam is scheduled for tomorrow morning, chem postlab on Tuesday, child psych report and psych testing exam on wednesday (if you were a teacher, would you schedule a deadline for a major paper and a long test at the same time?), and the dreaded chem long test on thursday. ALTP on Friday and Saturday. And I rest on the seventh day.
My stomach is beginning to complain that my body is now running on reserve glucose from my liver instead of nutrients from a hearty and healthy breakfast. Something I still remember from physio psych, though I haven't a clue why I do. Still, have to feed my body, otherwise I wouldn't be able to think why the traumatisms from life make us reflect and why I have to be delivered from my solitude of being by the Other, for which I am infinitely responsible. And yet we find that "the true life is elsewhere". Huh? Arthur Rimbaud was one serious 18-year-old when he wrote that. He was gay, according to our philo class, but Tiff said he looked like Brad Pitt.
But I bet he'd prefer Matt Damon over Jennifer and Angelina.