otherwise engaged.

a random mental scrapbook for things rescued from the detritus of everyday, maintained
by an impossibly romantic, oftentimes obsessive compulsive, but always incredibly
unfrazzled and beautiful (or so she'd like to think), bride-to-be.
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A woman who writes feels too much,those trances and portents!
As if cycles and children and islands weren't enough;
as if mourners and gossips and vegetables were never enough.
She thinks she can warn the stars. A writer is essentially
a spy. Dear love,
I am that girl. --from THE BLACK ART by Anne Sexton

Friday, October 01, 2004

A phone conversation

Me: Hi, sweetie!
Him: Where're you?
Me: Home na.
Him: Was wondering if you'd like to see Fahrenheit 9/11 on Sunday.
Me: No, sweetie, it's okay. Go ahead and see it na. It's much too
heavy stuff for me.
Him: Too heavy?
Me: Yeah, it's too much, I'm afraid.
Him: You know me naman, I like these things...
Me: I know, sweetie. But with all the heavy stuff I've been reading...
Him: Okay with you if I see it tonight, then?
Me: Yeah, yeah, go ahead. So sorry I can't see it with you.
Him: It's okay. You're working tonight?
Me: Yeah, a bit. Gotta finish my paper.
Him: Okay, then. Love you, sweetie.
Me: Love you, too, sweetie. Take care.
Him: Loveyouloveyouloveyouloveyou!
Me: Hahaha. Love you.
Him: I'm in a mall--I have no shame! Hahaha. And people are
looking at me...I love you, May!
Me: I love you, too! (sigh)