She lives and works from her laptop on a little paradise island in the Philippines. She's a writer, graphic artist, and mountaineer. During rainy days she loves to sleep and oversleep and dream and daydream and then write. More »
+ Anaïs Walsdorf
+ Andy Macalino
+ Carlos Quijon
+ Chingbee Cruz
+ Christine Lao
+ Clara Buenconsejo
+ Dana Delgado
+ Eva Gubat
+ Glenn Diaz
+ Jeffrey Javier
+ Joel Toledo
+ Jordan Carnice
+ Kristine Reynaldo
+ Lyza Taguilaso
+ Oscar Sequina
+ Peachy Paderna
+ Pia Benosa
+ Raffy Recalde
+ Vlad Gonzales
I feel like I have morphed into an entirely different person. No--in fact, I changed so much I don't even resemble a person anymore. (And fuck it. My hands are effin freezing from the frigid centralized air-conditioning here in the work place.) I swear. I don't like this new person, or rather, non-person, at all. I just wish an unidentified purplish highly-evolved entity would laser a hole on the ceiling and abduct me, take me away, and teach me novel laws of physics in an entirely different, albeit complex, dimension.
Oh GOD. I swear. I want to go back to school. Earning money for myself isn't exactly fulfilling, mind you, especially when the job itself involves speaking to utterly daft subnormally intelligent cretins from the other side of the planet, specifically about their problems, and of all mundane problems, their cellular problems--and I don't mean the structural unit of their biological makeup, but of wireless mobile gadgets, specifically of cellular phones and/or personal digital assistants.
Work will begin in precisely thirty-four minutes, and I seriously really don't want to attend work, sit on a cushioned wheeled chair for nine straight hours with a telephone cord wired up my left ear. I'd rather wrap the cord around my neck and fake asphyxiation: I choke at the superficiality of this utterly tedious ordinariness of human existence.
Work doesn't need my imagination and analytical skills wherefore (use it or lose it) shall devolve me into a primate with the left and right hemispheres of my brain chucked out my cranium due to natural selection where favorable traits necessary for survival (such as talking to moneyed nincompoops on the phone--for I am their slave which rather makes me subhuman financially speaking--which is a new mofongo altogether) are strengthened and unfavorable traits (like writing, creative thinking, and critical analysis) are thrown out the window.
Err. I are stupid. And in due time I shall personify the very paragon of stupidity.