Menthol-Guy

When I saw myself typing

“I couldn’t live up

to Mom’s standards and it’s a royal

pain in the ass for both camps.

It’s really hard but I’m

trying. I’m really trying.

I’m sorry if I’m

such a burden. Really.”

I cried.

I can’t help but think of what it feels to put the edge of my plugged charger on my tongue. Is this weird? Always thinking of the goddamn thing? Reminds me of the movie Crank. Anyway, it’s been a recurring image lately.

One thing: I rarely get headaches. I usually get them from eating fatty foods (the bagnet I bought from Ilocos, lechon kawali and lechon) or with coffee–which explains why I don’t drink coffee that much. With problems I don’t exactly put them into mind, though tonight I’m having a really bad headache.

Why? (This might seem unparalleled, grammar-wise.)

1. I drank iced coffee–must be the brain-freeze, and the fact that it’s too sweet. Why do iced coffees have to be really FUCKING sweet? (Or at least in our local coffee shops. We don’t have Starbucks or any other major cafes anyway.)
2. I smoked a lot of cigarettes today.
3. I’m fresh from a writing workshop.
4. My roommate confided three fucking problems.
5. Stressed (though I had twelve hours of sleep last Tuesday).
6. Overanalyzed things.
7. Still emphasizing the fact that I couldn’t make a critical paper. (If I could, it would be the densest ever.)
8. I must have missed drinking beer.
9. Thinking about the next few days to come.
10. Koreans!!! (I’ll talk about these Koreans next time.)

I’m trying to calm my headache with music from Daft Punk; I feel it would intensify when exposed to Damien Rice or even Vampire Weekend–I don’t know why.

This Saturday my band would be having a gig in a friend’s birthday. First gig, guys! Our band name: Gramsci and His Cultural Hegemony. We’re about to sing nine songs though we’ve only rehearsed five of them. I only do the vocals, fuck me, because my guitar skills are inadequate, thankyouverymuch.

I’m turning 19 next Monday.

Then I’ll be having rehearsals every night since I’m tentatively included in the cast of our play. Playdate: March 17. This isn’t good. Though I’ll be playing a minor role, this is still a royal pain in the ass. (I’ll deliver six lines! You guys should be impressed.)

Come March 9 I’ll be interviewed for the renewal of my VISA. (I’ll be skipping three classes. My bad.)

Papers, requirements, exams, sleepless nights: this shall be the cycle of my life for the remaining four weeks of this semester. Onward, I shall march with bravery and a beer in hand. Onward!

I woke up at 6:58 AM when the call time for our Laguna field trip (yes, same fucking province) is 5:30AM.

I feel hopeless. For one, it’s a requirement for me to pass the subject (well maybe my professor would ask me to report again) but I’m hoping for a refund, you see. It’s worth Php1,200.

My roommate knew last night that I wouldn’t be able to wake up. How I hate this guy. I was choosing a new alarm clock tone (in my cellphone) since I surmised my ears might be used to it. Well, it still didn’t work. I wouldn’t know if my hands snoozed it. How can my situation be predictable!

Right now, I received a text message from my professor to go to Jolibee Pagsanjan for chrissake. Where the hell is Pagsanjan!

The last field trip I had was last November, to UP Diliman, and a lot of my classmates called my cellphone to wake me up, which is really thoughtful. In this subject I don’t know why nobody called. Bullshit. Waking up earlier than 10AM is just the hardest thing to do in a body which is used to 10AM and 1PM schedules every fucking day. I oversleep for twelve hours goddamnit!

As if these rants might just reverse time. I punched my pillow out of stupidity. Ha. Ha.

Since my birthday’s two weeks from now, why don’t you guys send me an alarm clock? It’d be a big help, really. I’ve been like this since fourth grade!

I have six subjects and three organization-related meetings every week. I go home during weekends to get drunk, meet with my friends or cook for Dad. I have stories to be finished, a pile of handouts to read (when I say a pile it’s a goddamn pile), downloaded movies I have to see. I have tons to do, tons to think about, tons and tons of things to do and things to think about.

I suck at time management because I give in to spontaneous decisions. I spend minutes surfing the Net. Sometimes I skip classes. I hate my life. I wish I could graduate and write stories and take pictures and earn money and everything.

Well, I’ve been thinking of moving out of this apartment because it can be a big factor in my procrastination. (Funny, I’m planning to move next door with only one roommate: my cousin, an incoming freshman here in UPLB). Our room’s basically a hellhole with hamsters (I heard my roommate call Sonia; so one of them’s probably Sonia) and hedgehogs. No offense to my roommates but I just couldn’t concentrate when there’s noise, the fact that my course has TONS of readings, you see, and not mere calculations and bone-related memorization. Other personal reasons I shall not post here (though they’re nothing really serious).

My Japanese friend (who lives next door) is about to go back to Yawatahama next month and I’m thinking of occupying his goddamn room. It’s like, I don’t really care if I’m alone. Though my roommates might think of themselves as something bad but I just really need a break. A big one.