Play it by ear.

How far can you go for friendship?

When I was in college, I used to wonder why we only have 24 hours a day when there is so much stuff to carry out, time management included, totting up I should say I deliberately need 36 hours. Well I still exist so something good came of that — work-life balance it is. One may marvel how i juggle work, social life, and loading myself with spare time activities (writing articles income for extra income and organizing events) once in a while, without jeopardizing my sleep. YES NOW, a splendid normal sleeping pattern of 8-10 hours subsequent to two years in graveyard shift.

AND YES NOW, I have this erstwhile honest-to-goodness friend suddenly altering the physiology of my arrector pili inadvertently setting seism of my status quo. God knows how much I love her. God knows how much she’s always in deep shit. God knows how much I’ve helped her. God knows how much I’m truly worth of being called a true friend. But God knows how much deep shit I can only take. I tend not to reply from her facebook message tonight which caused all these ranting and quetching because:

a. Last week of January 2013, she successfully stressed the hell out of me. Those life-threatening documents she needed last minute took me out of my serene life. I was not able to sleep, I was not able to eat, I ate then but had a diarrhea, damn too exhausted and losing money - those things that only occur when I’m brokenhearted. Yet I felt I saved her life and I’m totally grateful she’s still alive.

b. Purchasing stuff for her and her baby and her husband. I love shopping — for myself. Shopping for others, not really my thing. BUT I LOVE HER, that’s why managed to go that far.

c. I hate going out to wire money. She asked me to do that several times. Why I hate it? That, I don’t know; I just despise it like I disdain the smell of untidy restroom.

d. Wire money, again, OOP (insurance abrev for Out Of Pocket). I mean, I don’t get the drift: She’s abroad and asking me for OOP. Like, seriously? She earns more than I do for the love of all that’s holy. That new husband of hers is giving me the impression of lackadaisical spousehood. He can do that. Girls’ rule say he’s not excused because he’s not the one who’s lactating.

I’m gonna babble of my routine and how I pull my travesty out of petulance and sarcasm. I’M SUCH A BUSY BEE. That’s what I’m trying to come across about.

Understand that I need ample rest mainly to accomplish my job. I’m working on a new account that irrationally warrants a directly proportional productivity and accuracy. Inasmuch as a seasoned employee can execute, this, in the name of Hercules, is entirely atrociously impossible — says the wussy. Hah! I’m somehow picking up speed and pretentiously drawing a blank on accuracy just so to avoid the client’s whatever-happened-to-your-vision-mission-statement and they can all eat my keyboard dust. Rule of thumb: Any feedback is acceptable given the learning curve (but I haven’t got a grave feedback so I must be doing fine).

PS:Lack of modesty is exquisitely pardoned these times.

Understand that I need ample rest mainly to go to the gym. Few people know that I need burn these flabs too. And gahd, I’m so fat! I’m busy and I’m fat! Ain’t that a doubly whammy?

 

Understand that I need ample rest to pull an afternoon to all-night hangout with my friends. I deserve that. We all deserve to be in the comfort of our hilarious, sensible, and senseless friends to just you know… catch up and weave stories whilst we shop, smoke, COCOL (coffee-coffee lng), and watch no-brainer movies. We are the mother and father of all multitaskers, really.

Understand that I need ample rest to reply to text messages, follow up on our soon-to-be abode (a condo unit, yay!), furnish our company jackets, plan for an upcoming event.. et cetera, et cetera. You see, My name is spelled B-U-S-Y.

Does that sate the speculation why I deliberately need 36 hours a day? If the answer is no, you’re a moron. Fucking profound moron with absent delta waves of no use in this world. You should be extinct.

So how far can you go for friendship? How far can I go for friendship? Take out those unnecessary favors, I can spacewalk if I have to.

PPS: I feel guilty when she said sorry she was asking too many favors. But I can’t think of anything to ink about. Besides, I haven’t blogged for a while. So.

Hey, 2013!

I thought a change of profile pic would be nifty.

And I get some private messages like this:

A sonorous “what the eff?!” fired from my mouth. Boy, I’m just glad some officemates are too contained of their cyber needs. WELL, okay. Sige na nga. I’m too pa-cute in that picture kasi.