Breaking the Habit

Oh shit. I overslept. Now, it’s Monday. Today’s the best day to blog. While everyone’s in a hurry trying so hard not to get stuck in traffic, I’m here curling in bed with Edward…

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Welcome to Commonwealth!

This is Commonwealth Ave. Boston, MA

Now, this is Commonwealth Ave, Quezon City

Ahhhh, yes. Upon reaching the elliptical road, you’ll see an invisible sign that says ABANDON HOPE ALL YE, WHO ENTER HERE!

Coat for the Day

When in doubt…..pull out.

The price you have to pay…..

for being a team player. *Insert Loser smiley*

I woke up yesterday, unable to move. Panic!  Paralysis?? No. Every  inch of my body aches.. No let me rephrase that. Every muscle, every joint, every cell that comprises my body—-ACHES so bad. 

I did the stretching. I swear.  But since I don’t normally do rigorous physical activities (okay maybe a bit–coz I hike the stairs of that frigging MRT cotraption everyday) like normal construction workers do, I felt like the only  way for me to get out of my bed is for fork lift haul my ass out of bed.

Worst part is, I occupy the upper bunk. Imagine the agony as I slowly try to descend. It’s excruciating.  I feel like a geriatric.

Two weekends dedicated to perfecting the routine. Heck, this is what I call fighting spirit.  I can’t believe myself. After practice, I headed home—not to go straight to bed but to do some personal errands like pay bills and all those grown up stuff.  By the time I got home, I felt like my legs were about to melt. My leg muscles felt like jello. I can barely stand up. I slept early hoping that come morning everything will be back to normal… normal meaning no muscle pains, no leg cramps  and no ankle cracking. 

But noooooooo. I’m basically in a vegetable state when I woke up—only my eyeballs move normally. All my voluntary muscles were worn out like tires. We better get a place in the finals—even if it’s just 3rd. 

It’s too late to quit. And besides, quitting is not in my alter ego’s vocabulary. There is a part of me that keeps pushing me to my limit. I am a bamboo. That’s my mantra for this week. *whatta lame metaphor*

Plus, I have an alterior motive for staying. Yup, I’m shallow that way. hihihihi..

Don’t tell my Dad….

that I can’t sew…

Oh yeah and a lot of other things related to home economics. I have this favorite short pants—and the zipper was broken. For quite some time it has been sitting in my cabinet. It ’s very disappointed because I am not doing anything for fix it. Until finally, I decided to grow a backbone and do some more damage.

So Satuday evening I attempted to undo the broken zipper and replace it with a functional one. Like a surgeon conducting a transplant, I took out the old one with my blade (the one I use for shaving my eyebrows–yeah, that’s called improvisation).

It took me about 1 and a half hours to stitch the whole thing in place. And yeah, that was A for effort.

The next day I decided to wear it for the practice, because it’s one of the two most comfortable short pants I have in my entire life.

So I was moving around (more than the usual) and I suddenly noticed ( and good thing that I am still fully aware that my sewing skills can be compared to my knowledge in quantum physics) that the stitches are slowly undoing itself—–not completely because that can actually cause social suicide for me.

HOLY SHEEEZ. I don’t want to get accused of flashing. Certainly, that was not the intention of wearing those pants. It’s for the sole comfort that it brings. 

It’s a good thing that I actually wore a longer shirt to cover up the mistake that I did. 

Thing is I cannot and will never be a good seamstress or a tailor. It’s basically goes to the list of things I can and will never do even if it’s the only job left in the world.

So yeah. I’m good at concealing things. Fortunately, no one noticed my slight wardrobe malfunction.

Bax still holds the record for the move-out-of-town embarrassing experience brought about my her scandalous mishap.

Thank you, Jesus.