laundry therapy, musings

the storm

two days ago manila was hit by the worst storm in 11 years. and i had to be at the office at the time. edsa was practically deserted. the office was turning into a jungle right before my eyes. walked out at 3 and decided to take a hike from mandaluyong to cubao. walk therapy.

when i got to¬†araneta center, decided to stop killing myself and took the bus to philcoa. forgot to get off from too much thinking about too much thinking and missed my stop. got off vanguard instead and despite legs hurting had to walk across devasted UP to get to vinzons. no jeep in sight. at katipunan only resto open were jollibee and shakeys. had to wait in line for hours. thankful for dinner at joven’s with tatems. laid down but couldnt sleep from thinking too much about thinking too much.

lights came back at 11pm and tried getting online in vain. slept again and took temporary solace listening to sad love songs from elton john’s aida.

“sometimes in my darkest thoughts,
I wish I’d never learned/
what it is to be in love
and have that love returned”

-radames and aida,
“written in the stars” aida

laundry therapy

laundry therapy

yesterday i did my laundry. whites first. then a mix of greys greens and maroons. the blues was next before the batch of underwear. occupied myself with laundry and missed lunch. went to church and learned i wasnt liturgist that evening. dressed up for nothing. dinner buddies were not available. went home to eat pancit canton, checked mail then slept at 10pm.

“hey rod, nicky, can you help us settle something?”
“whose life sucks more? brian’s or mine?”
– brian, kate monster, nicky and rod, “it sucks to be me” avenue q

laundry therapy

didnt have time to do laundry. brought 14.8 kilos of laundry (half of what i needed to be cleaned) to barangka for washing. got it today (after 2 days). my clothes now smell of fabric softener. but my life remains hard and in need of a fix.

“dont breathe too deep/ dont think all day/ dive into work/ drive the other way/ that drip of hurt/ that pint of shame/ goes away/ just play the game.”
– mark cohen, “what you own,” rent


the whale


killed the beached whale
its leathery skin drying
and cracked by the
blistering sun

the seagulls hover
like vultures
but it was loneliness

that killed the
beached whale that morning

salt tears sting
the crevices of its
sunburnt skin