DR

A long weekend at Dr. Jose Fabella Memorial Hospital, Delivery Room (DR) & Cord Dressing Room (CDR)
There were 4 ninjas: (from left) atleast half of my face, athine, muffet & kate

Look mommy it's a baby girl! (background: baby crying and looking at me)
Cord cutting ceremony.

Now she's all clean and groomed up for cuddling.

zebras are white horses in jail

It was chaos! Hanging out with the hopeless of the hopeless. She was the center of her own universe all stars orbiting lamely with no synchronization. A special case desperately seeking special attention, a nut case perhaps with all those loose screw. She thought she fooled everyone but did she? Again I am disgusted with myself for tolerating her or even just by standing being with her... which was productive in a sense that I discovered that I'm the best housekeeper when irritated -trying hard to keep myself busy and occupied. My goodness I cannot believe myself for being so fake around her! It's a crime. But then again, how could you tell someone to grow up when you're nearly sure her perception is blocked tightly by vanity? It will all just end with arguments and who knows, cockfights..? How pathetic. I just have to understand that I have no choice, she's a part of the f**king system that I have to deal with. Then I'll f**king deal with it even though it bites! Gee, all that courage.

A dead end is just a good place to turn around.

estro & prog

My personal calender goes bloody red again. If I didn't know better, I'd begin to think that I have this five-day alter-ego every moon's revolution. If I have this booklet where I can write my outrageous thoughts in red ink, it'd be like a graffiti content-wise. Full of shit. Thank god our tongues are made voluntary, if not, I'd be always in trouble.
What about it? Just a couple of days ago I found myself unamused with some people's outdated humor. Those jokes that I'd consistently force myself to laugh at on such occassions when my toleration jives with my calendar. This time it was different. I feel disgusted with their jolly appetite, staring at their mouths and thinking... "Pfft!" That's it. I don't know, it's like someone's at the back of my head whispering intently. I don't know if I'm the same person anymore, not even the chair I'm sitting at seems to think that.
I left my food half-eaten. Tasteless piece of disaster! What's going on? Half-rotten me.