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okay, no more dilly dallying. have to write something. NOW. even just something to bitch about…

 

It’s October and I just realized that apart of snippets of thoughts, mundane and eccentric alike that I try to scrawl into my green Sterling notebook at home, I haven’t written anything that sounds like a comprehensive article or even something blog-like for freakin’ 8 months already! (hmmm, doesn’t sound like someone who aspires to be an editor someday, huh?) So anyway, here I am and let’s see if I can still put my journalistic chops to good use. I warn you, this might get rusty and a bit dirty…

 

….on my writing

 

              ….I super miss it but sometimes I loathe the thought that I can’t write as much as I want to due to brains cells dying one by one like a bunch of lined cans ready for a sniper’s target shooting. Bang! Bang! Bang! Dead! No use at all. Absolutely worthless. I hate it that I can’t write as much as I want to, because either I’m busy at work or I’m busy trying to sleep or to the contrary, partying or just bumming around.  

 

…my take on aging

 

        …funny that im just on my early 20s but I feel like life has left me behind and that my biological clock is already ticking. Not the clock that I should be married and have children, mind you, but the clock that says that I should be doing more and there are a lot of younger people out there and I will soon be rendered obsolete like a friggin’  Windows 98 anytime soon.

 

 

…my dependency on everything illegal

 

            I used to be dependent on food and writing blogs to make me happy and sane, (yah I used to be so low maintenance.) That was then. This is now. My mother will surely drag me back home if ever she knew that I need some sleeping supplements to knock me dead, that I am hooked on caffeine of all dosages and make (whether the brewed, iced or fizzing ones) to keep me awake, some puffs to help me poo, booze to make me euphoric or cuddle me when I’m fuckin’ miserable, and fastfood and my roommates’ cuisine to nourish my garishly disproportioned body. Now let’s leave it at that. I don’t want to say something that may discriminate me.

 

 

…the love-hate relationship that I have with my job

 

        …you might have guessed by now that I work as a call center agent. The job I said I will never be caught dead doing, simply because I think it won’t make me grow; the job that those who know me well enough tell me doesn’t deserve me because it’s way beyond my league (ahem); and the job that will absolute kill me (refer to abovementioned danger signs). Okay, I can’t say im crazy about this job or that I hated it to the core. I don’t know. Maybe a mix of both, if that’s possible. Love-hate will be the best way to describe it. I love the perks of it, the fact that I speak English for eight friggin’ hours, even on breaks; the fact that I can bullshit Westerners to believe me eventhough I’m absolutely clueless as well (beat that!), of course the pay ( that I squander to my heart’s content), the workplace that doesn’t care if you’re straight or gay or if you are a minority as long as you can do the job, the ‘no dress code’ policy, no pending stuff to thing about after logging off,  and…the boys. Let’s not forget the boys. I also like the fact that I can utilize all the expletives that I want to use to its full potential. When before the only way I can used expletives were using bleeps and asterisks, now my daily language will be peppered by the fuck yous , eat shits, and all the expletives that I have mustered and have been itching to use in public before but cannot because the environment calls for me to be decent. In a nutshell, what I like about my job is I became better in spoken English, confident in public, and aggressive, such as the ability to fend off hopeless computer illiterate customers as illiterate as me from eating me alive.

        Now let’s also go to the not-so-good-part. The bad thing in this picture is, this whole conundrum is keeping me away from the things that are good about me, my writing, my dream job, and the confusion. And my sleep! I have so many aborted resignations, jobs that I was already hired, but for some crazy twisted reason, I walked away from. Simply because I cannot leave this job. Because something is holding me back, and it sucks that I don’t even know the answer as to why. Plain bullshit, if you ask me.

 

 

…on being a schadenfreude

 

Schadenfreude in German is the ability to feel good about the misfortunes of others. Or simply being a skanky little bitch. What do you do to move on from a blotched relationship? Some wallow in depression, others mount a vendetta, while some wreak havoc into someone else’s life. I dabbled in each one, but I excelled in the latest one. Misery does make one numb and downright nasty, and sad to say I did it. The poor bloke swallowed it all, the mind games, my cutesy lines, and my seemingly innocent facade. And boy, did he fall for it, Hook, line and sinker. Made me feel good about myself, and bad about myself, for acting like the jerk that I am. Fuck. Life’s a bitch.

 

 

…on other things that I might consider bitching about

 

ahmmm, nothing much…just that I have lesser things to stress about but wishing I had a lot to think about ….

 

 

And hoping the guy beside me will stop using betterment in his letter to a BPO company because it is NOT FUCKING RIGHT!