Exclusive Sale

I want to an exclusive Toys R Us sale a while ago.

Funny how some people don’t get what exclusive means.

There was a jerk at the entrance of the store, and he’s making a scene.

Doorman:         I’m sorry, Sir. Hindi po kayo pwedeng pumasok. This is an exclusive sale.

Guy:                 Huh? Bakit?

Doorman:         Exclusive nga po, Sir.

But the jerk was persistent in wanting to get inside the store.

Doorman:         Wag na po kayong mapilit, Sir. If you want, we could let you in, but you must have a credit card from either one of our partners: Metrobank or RobinsonsBank–Cebu Pacific.

Guy:                 I don’t want a card. I just want to buy toys.

Me:                  Uhm, excuse me, jerk! Didn’t you get that it’s an exclusive sale? Now, if you                                don’t mind, please step aside coz there’s a long queue of exclusive shoppers                              behind me.

And as the doorman stamped my wrist, I looked at the jerk and showed my stamped wrist.

Me:                   See? Exclusive.

Once inside the store, you’d see a pandemonium. It’s crazy to see a horde of shoppers with carts and carts of different toys, made even crazier with an air of Christmas tunes.

Paskong-pasko na sa store na ‘to.

While my officemates were scattered to where the bags, dolls, toy cars, and jigsaw puzzles are; I was looking on the racks of Uno, Monopoly, and Magic 8 Ball.

Magic 8 Ball.

I’ve always wanted to have one, when I was young. But I think it’s silly if I’d own one right now. I mean, what’s a 28 year old doing with a Magic 8 Ball?

Anyway, just for the heck of it, I tried asking questions… about my twitter crush. *hihihi*

Me:                   So, is it possible na magka-crush sa akin si twitter crush? *shake shake shake*

Magic 8 Ball:      Without a doubt.

Ay, potaena! It made me wanna ask some more questions.

Me:                   Not that I’m a size queen, pero malaki ba yung ano ni twitter crush? I mean, yung you know.. yung ano nya? *shake shake*

Magic 8 Ball:      Better not tell you know.

Chosera. Pa-suspense ang walanghiya.

Me:                   Eeeeeeh. Sige na. Sabihin mo na. Malaki ba yung ano nya?   *shake shake shake*

Magic 8 Ball:      Signs point to yes.

Stupid right?

Anyway, I didn’t buy the thing. I just put it back.

A few toys caught my interest, though:

·         Battery-powered aquarium fishes (the clownfish one looks really cute)

·         Modern Tamagotchis

·         And this thing called a blinking caterpillar:

  

I know.

I’m weird.

A Haunted Express

“Get back! Get back to the Waiting Room!” exclaimed Mrs. B, as she pounds her mallet of steel on the wall.

She has changed, a lot.

She was one of my teachers in high school. But now, it seems as if she’s part of the authorities. Like a military woman, or a policewoman, or more of a commander of some army. And in my head, I was thinking, “What happened between then and now? Why did she change?”

“One minute! I just need to get a band-aid, and antibiotics,” I said. But I was wondering, “why antibiotics?”

I remember being scratched during a stampede. It’s just a minor wound, though, but she bought my excuse. It bought me some time to go over my stuff in my bag, and look for something. Funny how I can’t remember what I was looking for, until Mrs. B bolted inside the Luggage Room.

“What’s taking you so long? You got your band-aid already!” fumed Mrs. B. 

She looked displeased, as if I disobeyed her command to get back to the Waiting Room.

“I need my meds! See?” I showed her a packet of pills, without even reading what they’re for.

“Faster! Move faster!” shouted Mrs. B. In my head, I was thinking, “What is it with her? What’s with all the shouting?”

“Ok. Ok. Jeez,” I exclaimed, and then ran out of room.

Outside, it was a horrid sight to behold—a lot of bodies were scattered on the ground, mostly bathing in their own blood. Majority of them are shot. Some are barely breathing; while others just lay lifeless on the floor.

I ran to safety, working my way towards the sign board that says “Waiting Room.”

Then I woke up, gasping for air.

***to be continued…

P.S. F*ck dreams! Why do they have to be this crazy?

Bipolar(ism)

My shrink told me to sleep

Xanax he says,

Valium I take.

Gulping it deep.

Drifting, drifting

Pupils constrict.

Mellow yellow,

My diary is writ.

 

It exists.

They exist.

And no, I'm not referring to those who think that they are; just for the heck of it.

I'm talking about those that have been diagnosed, clinically.

It's not an "in" thing, it's not cool, it doesn't add to your individuality.

It's serious.

***

I hope he's fine.

I hope you're OK.

I pray that all those that I know of are fine.

***

Believe me, you wouldn't wish it to be you...

A Keeper’s Predicament

Must he give in,

to a play of the mind;

And make known the truths

that were left behind?

Adrift

I should be working, but my mind just can’t seem to focus.

My mind’s adrift.

I should do something.

I should read.

     I WAS LYING on the floor of my bedroom, praying to God to save Jamie, whom I adored, from all harm. When I came to, someone seemed to have taken away most of my furniture. I was in a blank space unbounded by dimension or time. The apartment had been almost entirely emptied. A mattress remained on the floor, and one book remained, the Brownstone Eclogues. No: over there, a book of translations of a German poet, whose name disappears on me every time I read it, sits on the windowsill. The rest of my books had performed a vanishing act. I went to the mirror. Coolberg’s face looked back at me. As in a Cocteau film, I fell into the mirror and swam in the glass. (Chapter 28, The Soul Thief by Charles Baxter) 

That was probably the shortest chapter I’ve ever read.

Maybe it’s about time to finish reading this book already; it’s been long overdue.

Hopefully, I'd regain focus after that.

Or not.

I miss you, C.