Funny how when people tell you that you look sick, you start feeling sick yourself.

Blame it on the excessive amount of alcohol I drank last night while ironing mountains of laundry. I enjoy those alone moments as much as I enjoy time spent with my kids. It’s always like that being an adult - the dichotomy of existence tugs stronger than when, say you were 17 and you have too much time on your hands to brood. I am not saying that I want to be 17 again, I only wish there was summer break for working adults, too. It would be a good time to catch up on friends, reading and commune with the sun. Do you know what I am talking about?

I am talking about having time and spare energy to do something around the house, about having time to raise your feet and carry adult conversation, about having time to exercise - be it hitting the road with your sneakers and your head empty, about having the energy to play tumble with two pre-schoolers, about curling under the covers with a book. I think you call it work-life balance. Yeah, have you heard of that word, too? It must be the Nirvana on earth, no?

Jude coerced me to see Transformers on the big screen yesterday. That is his idea of alone time. It was too much for my sensibilities but he felt good afterwards… so it’s not so bad. Hahaha! I am so lame. I was thinking about the kids the whole time, and re-sorting my grocery list in my head and thinking of what I could have missed — the cake and balloons? No. The meat? No. The loot bags? Yes. We got out of the theater very late and no time left to order the cake and balloons. I am part hoping for a miracle - me transforming into Optimus Prime and no, wait… Optimus cannot make cake and balloons out of thin air.

Happy Birthday, Una. Yes, you are my first angel sent to me as blessing.

Mon Isberto was gesticulating and with prophetic effect he proclaimed that text messaging has changed our lives and improved our communication… I roll my eyes. Good thing I was seated way too far from the podium for him to notice the whites of my eyeballs.

Don’t get me started about the quality of the sentences delivered via SMS. Just DON’T. He went on and on expounding about how technology bridged the gap between the rich and the marginal businessmen, how even Kulas is seen perched on his carabao with buri in his one hand and a cellphone in the other. He was basically boasting about how Smart has covered the whole of the PH: some areas have no electricity but they have phone signal. I am using weRoam on this computer now and it sucks big time. It’s very expensive and if you think of it, only desperate people would ever consider subscribing to it and having learned that PLDT is out of stock (as we filipinos would say it), I’d say there are a lot of desperate housewives like me. weRoam uses GSM/GPRS networks… just like your mobile phones.

That’s how I spent the most exciting day of the year — listening to a highly-paid media man sell his company to the coops while Harry Potter is being consumed by fans worldwide.

And oh technology brought me ill news this morning. I received an email with important plot details of the HP 7. SPOILER! I screamed. I covered my screen with both hands, slammed my laptop close and ran away from my desk.

I do not understand why some people can be so mean as ruin other’s simple source of joy such as… reading a book and letting the plot be unfolded in its convoluted grandeur. I cannot fathom their motive. I see these people as pitifull beings who have not experienced life’s simple pleasures.

It is the same thing with people who instead of making a situation bearable, go on to make it a living hell for their subordinates just because they have the power to do so.

and floo powder.

I am here in Davao and I am going to miss the major launching of Harry Potter: Deathly Hallows. I will also miss my dentist’s appointment for the second time and the metal wires are poking the insides of my mouth like the hot tridents of hell.

I am sitting here now, trying to summon the importance of this day and my role in the unfolding of an event… and I cannot help but be awed at my own insignificance. Insignificant. Like the broken rice that sticks in between the cracks of your molar. That insignificant.

I would like nothing but to go home now… and I don’t care anymore which city is that.

The biscotti from McCafe refused to yield to my fingers. I am sure my teeth won’t work either. I just made a mental note to dunk it into my latte when I get to the office… later.

It’s quarter past 1 in the afternoon and I am enjoying the heat of the sun, the screeching sound of the traffic as I make my way back to our new office. It’s in a decrepit, sorry-looking building that smell of decay and toxic fumes… maybe formaldehyde although I no longer remember how formalin smells. I hate the building and although the interior of our office does not seem like part of the building at all — it’s upbeat and posh in red and cream, I do not find joy in getting in and out of it. I am that CRAZY.

My head is as hot as the cup of coffee in my right hand. I take in little sips and great gulps of air.

What won’t kill me now, shall kill me in time.

And it’s not just a slight complex in me. I bought two new pairs of sky-high pumps (plaid peep-toe and brown snake skin), two jackets (black and caramel), a gold and brown printed dress, a pair of skinny jeans, a pink luggage and that amounts to my whole salary for the 15 days of slaving my ass.

I got to work this morning after Jude literally dragged me to the cab and out.. because walking in heels this high with a laptop in one hand and a handbag in the other is just impossible. I got all the appreciation that I do NOT need. Hahaha! And now my legs hurt from the 30 degree incline. Vanity is a sin. I know.

I was mortified after I paid my purchases in cash but Jude was his always kind self and told me that I needed the items. And besides, it was him who picked them.

Conclusion: There always will be men who adore and dote on little Imeldas.