I usually don't blog when i'm happy, you'll notice this if you've been reading my blogs for a while. I eat when i'm happy, or dance, or curl up in a fetal position and stare into space. Sometimes you'll catch me splurging on midnight snacks at my favorite chinese food deli, but compose prose? Hardly. Much of my writing tend to lie on the side of the bitter, the acerbic, or at the very least, the sarcastic. See, I don't usually find much reason to dissect my feelings when i'm calm, and when i'm in a tranquil mood, I don't usually attempt to ruffle the still waters of my thoughts with words. Why create tsunamis or tidal waves? I just usually keep still and quiet. When i'm pleased with the way things are, you'll hardly even notice that i'm there, i just sit back and savor the scene, like a painter after the last stroke of the brush touches a masterpiece, or a young student in one of Fr. David's philosophy lectures/homilies, absorbing and relishing every word. Unlike Vincent Van Gogh, you won't catch me cutting off my ears.

For clarity's sake, I would just once again like to stress (no pun intended) that I am not coiled into a mass of tension, strained to a breaking point, or in any such position which commonly causes me to blog, as might have been the case earlier today, after a 'none spat' with my only sibling over what was suppose to be lunch. To his credit, he actually apologized, though he may have been coerced to do so after I went ranting to our mom, accusing him of having hoarded all the food just because he had a friend in tow. No need to tell him that when the coast was clear this afternoon and he and his friend were no longer around that I was actually picturing his thigh as I was hacking off what remained of the crispy pata with a table knife. Having gotten that over with, i am no longer on the verge of bursting a blood vessel, neither am I hovering on the fringes of a nervous breakdown. I am experiencing a moment of pure enjoyment, not euphoria but, just... fun.

So what momentous occasion could possibly have led me to blog today when no major upheaval is corroding the landscape of my existence... on a PC nonetheless which is not my own, and whose lack of a disk drive will cause a slight dilemma when the time comes to transfer this blog, I can't exactly just cut and paste it into another pc... hehehe. Hell, i'll just retype it all over again if I have to, after all, what's the point of having been first in line when God was distributing the skill of 'touchtyping' if you can't exploit it once in a while?

The 'occasion' is the PC itself, one which, though i can't exactly call 'my own' is the very first one which i've installed an Operating System in, which makes it a marvel of sorts for me. Okay, so there were some preliminary problems with the computer at first seemingly rejecting Windows 98 out of spite or maybe for fun, or who knows whatever it is goes on in an 'untamed' computer's feral mind, and it was really qs who was able to break through its obstinacy by appealing to its more primal instincts (read between the lines : DOS), but after the initial debacle with Windows 98, and a serial key which was being claimed to be 'invalid', I am rather proud to say that the upgrade to Windows XP went smoothly enough, and I was actually able to follow instructions for once without breaking my back, or causing qs to tear his hair out, and install the necessary components, protections, programs, etc. etc. etc., and end up with a machine well worthy of all the time, along with qsez gripes, which has been poured into it.

Had I failed in the attempt to 'domesticate' this PC, I might have reconsidered entering law school, and mortgaging a good portion of my soul to whomever it is down below who lawyers seem to worship.

As it is, my soul remains safe.
niz on 03:41 PM CST [ link ]

One of the most unjustified things in this world is that inspite of the fact that Luis Royo and his brood of fantasy artists weren't contracted to conceptualize the physical appearance of the average woman, is that there are actually women who look like they could only have materialized out of those artists' brilliant minds and imaginations... and I am actually not one of them.
niz on 09:10 PM CST [ link ]

Without even being aware of it, I have been domesticated, a fact which has been brought to my attention only tonight. Only two years ago, I was able to survive four months separation from my newborn daughter with scarce giving it a thought, now I feel incredibly upset and unhappy because our second child, Powee, one of my most prized 'possessions' and the apple of my discriminating eye, fell asleep before I could take him upstairs and put him to sleep myself on our bed as I usually do.

I keep on imagining him waiting for me to get him, and the thought is wrenching at my heart. I won't be surprised to find the word 'Parent' branded on my hip, the way they mark livestock. I can't believe its gone this far. I can't believe i'm this far gone.
niz on 08:53 PM CST [ link ]

That I have been feeling extremely despondent lately about the lack of consistency in human relations, and about human ambiguity and ambivalence in general is an understatement, and maybe it is an admittedly flawed judgement call on my part to seek perfection in those who to me have the closest blood ties, it is a mistake i've committed uncountable times, and one which I can't seem to keep from repeating inspite of the dissapointment and disillusionment it brings.

Something always happens though to remind me that there is something worthwhile in humanity, something which keeps the idea of bowing my head in defeat for my search of resolution at bay.

Today I was engaged in a conversation with someone about subjects whose natures were of the mundane, specifically about homemade Christmas decorations and gifts which were the creation of nuns who were already in their advanced ages. Though it was a pleasant interlude, I didn't think anything of it until our talk about handicrafts and holidays and bazaars led us to how many sisters in the home were patients and how many were part of the staff.

It caused me no small amount of shock when she mentioned offhand that she was one of the patients, one who had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer in its third stage, and one who was currently in remission. She seemed so healthy, and so filled with life, vitality, and exuberance that it took me a while to process that what she meant when she called her illness 'C.A.' was cancer. She could just as easily have been talking of having caught a cold. She certainly caught my immediate affinity and admiration. It was the first time I have ever met her, but already I could say that I felt love for this person.

How easy it is for us to see the flaws, and faults in those around us, and to treat those who bring a sense of balance and stability into our lives with callousness and insensitivity, as if they'll be there for us to take for granted forever. How effortlessly it is that we forget that it is the easiest thing in the world for us to do to hurt those who truly love us, it doesn't even take any special skill or talent, they just have to be unlucky enough to happen to still love us during one of our 'bad days'.

Perhaps I am not entirely blameable in wishing for perfection from those who I love, yet the moment that I begin indulging in fantasies of perfection in my own self, the second that I stop believing that I am capable of mistakes, the minute that I lose the ability to apologize is the time that I lose all possibilities of touching upon perfection, or at least as close to perfection as being human can allow us to be.

I stop being worthwhile. I wouldn't even pass the first stage.
niz on 08:39 PM CST [ link ]

I have had what some people would consider as life-altering experiences, and though i am admittedly susceptible to feelings of boredom, and give in 'occasionally' to instances of purposelessness, and to the 'unavoidable' sporadic moments of wastefulness, I've always thought of myself as a person who loves her food too much to throw it up, give it away or lose it a moment before i've managed to derive the most enjoyment which I possibly can from it. It was in fact this tendency towards obesity which has been my saving grace in the face of a potential strain of anorexia nervosa and other similar eating disorders that plague the more physical appearance conscious of the female gender.

Not me though, i've loved food too much for too long to give it up just like that.

Apparently, migraines do not make distinctions between those who are bulimic and those who merely have a healthy appetite when the fare's right. A migraine saw me as a likely candidate last night for a mind blowing embrace, and the pain spread with such subtlety from the bridge of my nose to the back of my head that I hardly had time to register the excruciating sensation before I found myself bent over from the waist as a token final resistance to performing a kowtow in front of the porcelain god depositing what was but a few hours ago a scrumptious dinner of chicken liver, hot vegetable broth, a fifty peso worth seafood potpie, and the remains of a hardly digested dinner which must have taken ten times longer to prepare than for me to have hurled it all up like a recalcitrant postulant to the temple of the porcelain god and its muse, the ingenious bidet.

Obviously, the incident still has me stewing, and though I think I fought valiantly to keep from losing my food, I still ended up with an empty stomach, though I must have barfed out the migraine as well. Considering the violence of the spasms which shook my body, i'm surprised my intestines didn't end up getting flushed down the toilet, that and other bodily organs necessary for my normal functions.

Judging from this blog though, whether my brain was left intact remains questionable.
niz on 04:42 PM CST [ link ]

It wasn't a mere hours ago when someone put a bullet through my heart with words, judging from the size of the hole the bullet made, the artillery in question had the firepower equal to that of a shotgun, or to a canon. Anyway, the wound was still smoldering and the smell of burning flesh and smoke was still strong in my nostrils when the person in question decided to extricate debris from the hole with what feels like a set of iron pincers.

The excruciating pain sent signals to my brain bringing forth the thought that I do not belong in this world or in the next, or any world for that matter where feelings of rejection, alienation, isolation, or loneliness exist.

How can I not believe in aliens when I feel like one?
niz on 12:55 PM CST [ link ]

Lately it seems as if every part of my body has been stuffed with lead weights, much of the weights' concentration being on my heart. It didn't seem to matter much at all that vegetables weigh zero to none, the heaviness wouldn't leave me, even my dancing was affected, and sometimes it seemed as if I could hardly lift my legs from the floor, and it was a mere optical illusion that my feet were indeed moving.

Obligation has a way of freezing things over and turning them into deadweight, and feelings of obligation have spread so far as to encompass even my dancing. I realized this when it became apparent to me that though none of my moves had changed technically, they were starting to feel a little forced. Luckily, I was able to remedy the situation before the gravity of it all pulled me flat on my butt. I decided to focus less on developing my leg muscles, and work on my dormant and flabby funny bones instead. I was determined to enjoy yesterday's dancing by thinking only buoyant thoughts, allowing nothing which held a semblance of obligation enter my mind. It worked like a charm, I floated.

It would have put Jordan's Nike Air commercials to shame.
niz on 05:15 PM CST [ link ]

I am in freak-out and fret mode, and what put me into this state is the realization of how urgent it is to crystallize my self counsel, to imprint upon my consciousness who the hell I am to begin with. Actually, it isn't having to know myself better so I can stand by my principles which is agitating me so, it's the reason why I have to do it which is bothering me, that reason being that it turns out that I don't know those around me as I thought I did, or who I wanted to see them as aren't who they are at all.

Sigh. And I am so disillusioned because I always believed that these people didn't need excuses, or that making excuses would be beyond them.

For who I perceived them to be, all they needed were reasons. My reason for writing this being that I need someplace to start, and my cluttered and befuddled mind isn't the place right now for sane ruminations.
niz on 11:58 AM CST [ link ]

I am annoyed, and no force on Earth can pry from me the source of my annoyance.
...............................................................................

I've always thought of words as having a life source of their own, and since blogs are composed of words, I suppose it would be safe to assume that blogs have a rightful life of their own, yet never has this been proven as it has been yesterday.

Apparently blogs aren't like earthworms, they don't regenerate, on their own or at the will of others, even of their makers. I had a blog all completed yesterday, a spur of the moment play of words which made up for in spontaneity what it might have lacked in finesse and polish.

The only thing I had left to do was to click on the command which would bring me to Lithesome.ICE to confirm that indeed the blog ended up where it was supposed to be.

Apparently there are unknown entities in the universe who find blogs appetizing repasts and they found my blog to be palatable. For whatever reason, Lithesome.ICE remained unmoved and my little blog was nowhere where I expected to find it.

The words were still fresh in my mind and I could've recreated the blog from memory none too strenuously, something halted me in the process of doing so though, and the blog remained in its immaterial form. The thoughts were there, the idea still conceivable, but the mood, the moment was gone, and no amount of clicks on the refresh button could bring it back, and I couldn't bring myself to do something as sacrilegious as to let out a cheap, albeit, practically identical, imitation of what was only a while ago an authentic blog.

So blogs aren't ordinary words which require mere posterity to render them as immortal. They need something else aside, time, a moment, a breath held in awe... I don't know, all I know is that they're about as far from earthworms as something could possibly be.

Like marriage proposals, and declarations of independence, and life-altering decisions, for blogs, timing... is everything, and one cannot bring back to life on a whim a blog lost to the voracious appetites of those yet to be catalogued blog gorging creatures, but it's a different story all together if you happened to have that blog stored copy and paste style in a Microsoft Word Document or Editpad, after having been victimized the first time around, that isn't cheating, that's insurance.

niz on 03:59 PM CST [ link ]