A friend with a different world view
left recently without notice
and no path pointing back
I have to admit: Bonds crumbling abruptly eat me alive
but I have spent years moping with losses
while forgetting the 52 who stayed
Now I realize:
I would rather grow with those who remain like a tree
than waste waters on dead plants.
Productivity wise, well… I have a few rough nights not coming up with better homepage designs. I also need to sharpen my pen tool skills. Perfect. Just when I am falling in love with Adobe Illustrator again. But other than that I’m good.
And also I’ve been checking more of my junior designer’s social media and UI work, too. Honestly, sometimes I feel like I need to go overtime and work on her tasks myself. But that would not make her improve, right? It’s not in my nature to be strict and I am kind of a rebel myself, but in order for my subordinate to improve, I need to toughen her up. So far, so good. I hope she improves in a couple of months.
When it comes to my panic attacks, there are a few major ones but I am really doing my best to handle them myself, though I do need to inform my loved ones what is happening to me. Even if I am having those attacks, I still have to be aware of my surroundings. I cannot let them win over me. Fuck anxiety, man.
In the coming weeks, I will finally scatter some old posts to beef up The Dispatch’s archives. I’m pretty sure there will be a lot of writing exercises over actual essays, but that’s better than having a stagnant blog. Right?
Like every year before 2017, the year was filled with ups and downs—though today’s world and local news have almost made it impossible for us to look into glimpses of hope. I, The Deranged Writer, have also a year mixed with development and disappointment, glory and melancholy. And without further ado, I am going to talk about my year that was 2017.
Warning: A few items are pro wrestling related, so for those who are non-fans, I apologize for that. But why are you not watching yet?
I just turned 27 last December 5, and it was perfect timing that my office released our 13th month pay. Oh, boy! Not including a house and lot and a new iPhone X—All the things I can buy with all of these moolah, baby. Fuck yes.
Wait a minute though. I do need to save up more primarily because my family and I will move out to a condominium in 2020. Which is why I might only buy one of the things on my wishlist this holiday season. Or two. I don’t know. We’ll see.
But anyway, here’s my list!
Brown Formal Shoes
Last year I was able to buy my first pair of black leather boots in Palladium. I love wearing the pair so much that I kept wearing it for almost 300 non-consecutive days. What? Yes, I did. Thank goodness they have not given up on me. Yet.
But, aside from my blue Adidas rubber shoes, I can’t always depend on my constant journey buddy. And having a pair of brown formal shoes (oxfords or brogues) is the perfect pair to change my shoe game.
Shoe game. I never used that term before. But yeah.
December starts tomorrow, meaning that my girlfriend is turning another year older. Oh my God. Oh. My. God. Am I ready for tomorrow? I do have a gift though, but should I buy another? But budget is tight. And beside I already bought a gift she really wants. I have not given her a gift off her actual wish list on her birthday. I do not want to make another mistake.
I am nervous. But why should I nervous? I already bought her something. Something she really wants. Good grief. I need to relax. Goddamn coffee. I should stop drinking coffee at night. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Note: This piece was first written last November 22, 2017, in light of the 27th anniversary of Undertaker’s World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE) debut.
Since the start of 2007, I have this pro wrestling moment booked in my head—the final curtain call of my favorite wrestler of all time The Undertaker. The fantasy match involved would change from ‘Taker in one more Hell in a Cell match to a simply brutal one-on-one sanctioned match with another company flag bearer like John Cena or even Triple H again. But the ending moment in my mind was always the same—the Deadman leaving his trademark coat, hat and gloves in the center of the ring at WrestleMania, WWE’s flagship annual show.
Last April 2 2017 (US time), the next face of the company Roman Reigns would face The Undertaker at WrestleMania 33. I have a feeling that the match will be a passing of the torch from the 52-year old veteran to “The Big Dog”, but I was not prepared by how it would end. Reigns did get the torch as he would give ‘Taker his second ‘Mania loss in his career. And then the bittersweet moment I booked in my head a decade ago slowly turned into reality—he left his trademark coat, hat and gloves in the center of the ring at WrestleMania.
The moment I saw that at 12pm (Philippine time), live on the WWE Network, at the comfort of my own workstation, I cried. I really did. I don’t know if anyone in my office noticed my crying, and I don’t care if anyone did.
And as today marks the 27th anniversary of The Undertaker’s debut, let tell you why this sad/glad moment is a big deal for me.
In my workplace, operating hours start at 9am and ends at 6pm. We have a grace period up to 10am so we will not be marked as late. Unfortunately I have made a reputation to be really tardy—a reputation I am totally not proud of, and I have been working for 3 years already. It went to the point that my workmates just got used to that, and I
Yes, there are a few contributing factors that I cannot control like (1) living in a place with terrible daily road traffic and (2) unfortunate accidents that make traffic worse for a few hours. But in the end, I totally blame myself for not fixing my sleeping habits and not having a good morning routine. In short, I’m a big failure.
But enough moping and more direct action: I kept looking on YouTube videos, adjusting my sleeping pattern and trying other new ways to be punctual. And after a few years of adjusting and trials-and-errors, I made an simple yet significant achievement last week: I was at work early from Monday to Thursday; 4 out of my 5 work days, I was not late. Hot damn. And not only am I happy about that, my office mates’ reactions vary from “Congratulations!” and “Traffic was not bad, huh?” to “Holy shit!” and “What happened to our friend? Did you kill him?!” (Perhaps the last one counts as a positive reply?)