Ipis Ka
Monday, May 28, 2007
I have a horrendously long list of articles to edit. To do complete overhauls on, actually, because whoever wrote this stuff spent his whole life steeped in a pot of Crappy.
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Everything sounds better appended to the word "caramelized." Caramelized bananas. Caramelized apples. Caramelized keyboards. Caramelized lightning. Caramelized eye crust. Caramelized deep-seated trauma.
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1.5 articles down, 61 to go. This is not pretty.
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I am feeling very confused and vulnerable lately, and the only reason I can think of for this current state of ookishness is the great, unconstrained sweep of time ahead of me, as opposed to previous years when impending school-dom would somewhat ground me during this season. Not that I've ever been able to predict most of the events I've deemed significant, but there are, admittedly, some milestones that had to occur simply because the school year said so. Like thesis (titi). Or the simple fact of taking new classes, which leads to meeting new people and doing certain new things. Now it's all liquid, each issue as permeable as the next no matter how feckless it is. Like the ideas of certain people. I am obsessing over the way they portray themselves, not even of who they really are. Because I am that fucking erratic right now. Man.
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Last night, I dreamed I could ride a bicycle. And that I had to ride a bicycle for the rest of my life. Me speeding through traffic on a two-wheeler woohoo. It felt great to be able to ride a bike, although I think I woke up from my dream because I crashed into a sedan on EDSA.
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Last night, while still conscious, I went Little Miss Massacre on five flying ipises. For some reason, they all decided to gang up on me, swooping straight for my pillow or my book or my boob or my glasses. The fact that there were five of them all at once, and that they all decided to give me a hard time, just got me really, really annoyed. Five mad, flying ipises. It was uncanny, like they were past human souls banded together in some karmic crusade to, well, annoy me. Whether or not they were the dregs of samsara or the house I live in has just become extra-extra-infested, my slippers and I committed five counts of insecticide, anyway.
If reincarnation really was the culprit, I wonder who those ipises were. Hrm.
posted by marguerite @ 5:56 PM
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