Monday, February 23, 2004
I. am. not. gay.
I may be an obsessive-compulsive F4 memorabilia collector, but I am absolutely sure that my boobs are real and I pee sitting down.
I hope that answered the question raised about my sexuality. But just the same, I'm not answering any more questions about my sexual preferences.
***
Waah, my Survivor spoiler has not failed me yet. Damn!
Note to Jerri:
Stay strong, girl!
***
My Technicolor dreams have plots. No matter how short they are, they always tell a story.
And always, when I realize that I'm only dreaming, I try to take control of everything. From the color of the sky, to the clothes I'm wearing, to the people I'm with.
After all, it's
my dream. I own it. Only to learn that even in the land of Mr. Sandman, I'm powerless. I can't stop time, I can't fly, I can't make other people do what I want them to do just because I want to. I can't make other people mine.
I end up waking up tired and woozy.
***
Even in my dreams I am haunted by deadlines.
In a scene where I am surrounded by flowers, a big full voice would be heard saying,
"Di pa tapos article mo. Gawin mo muna yan bago ka maglamiyerda diyan noh! Pag natapos mo na yan, pramis, pede ka nang magliwaliw..."
I'm afraid, even in my head I still hear the endless chattering of my mom. Or at least what I think she'd say when she learns that I'm procastinating.
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