Just One of Those Days

For several days now, I have been meaning to write an entry just because this week, I had two whole nights of having the bedroom all to myself (I share it with a cousin who had gone to a soiree) and that’s a good time to write, right? A calm evening, well-kept room, generous signal from a neighbor’s wi-fi, a laptop and that rare moment of just being with myself. I just need to nail a topic.  I made two several attempts only to delete the entries halfway through. The mood is consistently un-witty, whiny, frustrated, impatient and clueless. And in both attempts, the entries started with a lame introduction - It’s one of those days…

I made a promise to keep this blog as sunshiny as possible because I owe it to the Universe to be so. That’s why I always write down that I am hot (even if it’s only 50% true – Lord, the truth DOES hurt!!) because it makes me feel good and I am claiming all the available hotness found in the Universe menu. That’s why I always write about my dream of having a pink and grey house because it makes me happy – dreams keep us going and again, I am claiming ownership of this dream. That’s why I keep a happy list – it’s an effective pick-me-upper. That’s why I exert all effort to be funny – even if I already appear corny, uncool and lame.

Today, I try to write again, only that the conditions aren’t helpful. My cousin is just several inches from me, attempting to make a conversation by asking questions, which thank God, are answerable by yes, no, a frown and a grunt – someone has to teach her how to read body language or read in between the lines. Our room is a mess - bags, books, CDs on the floor and the sorry state of rumpled sheets. It’s raining and dark outside, so it does not really help with cheering my masungit state ofmind.  Didn’t I just wish for this kind of day yesterday?  I wished for a rainy Saturday so I’ll have a good excuse to just stay on my bed, watch movies or finish a book. Didn’t I just do that? Stayed in my bed, watched Mulan (Parts 1 and2) and finished Nick Hornby’s “A Long Way Down”?  Still my mood remains consistent as how it was stated in the first paragraph: un-witty, whiny, frustrated, impatient and clueless.

Also, I have nothing to write. I have a scarce supply of stories worth sharing or even stories not worth sharing but still ought to be written for the sake of having something to write. I can write about how I have gone numb on the sorry state of MRT commuting but I remembered having written a great deal about my MRT frustration several weeks ago – and who finds reading (and writing) about third world public transport interesting anyway? I can write about how I am frustrated to be the Super Ate to my siblings, how I want to inspire them with my life or at least, provide for them. But I am a little bit sensitive on that issue now so I’ll stop. I can write about my cousin and how I seriously want to check on her pronunciation (right now, she’s reading a book out loud, for God’s sake!!), but I am no linguistics expert so I am dropping it. I can write again about my pink and grey dreams but I won’t dive in it unless I’m in my inspired mood. I can write about my work but I know there is nothing to elaborate about it so it’s useless. I like to write about the rain – but what is there to write about the rain?

It’s one of those days. Really.

Just one of those days.