NERD-ing

It’s when you find yourself failing, despite desperate efforts, to busy with something.  Then you let your mind linger for a little while – to that vast and empty space where you could pour in a good amount of your own ideas and imaginations.  Or some fiend beat you to pouring in his own ideas to distort yours. So you stop as you recall and recoil in thought: an idle mind? The devil’s workshop?

Danger zone. Fat chance.

So your hand reach the nearest sensible soft- or hardbound.  Familiar feel of fiction: unsatisfactory. Not enough to satiate. So you fidget around still, finding more than fiction.  And – yep – there goes sensibility.  You grab hold – eyes wide – of that bulky boredom of a book.

Textbook on the PHILIPPINE CONSTITUTION.

Welcome to this rare occasion of swotting. 

Profiling the Self and Other Rambles

photo courtesy of Mobile1

I am amazed at how I am easily amazed by little things, and just the same at how unperturbed I react with some big ones.  Am I of the psychologically anomalous lot?

I am rather upset by my almost annoying pacifist nature.  Not that I want belligerence into my system; maybe I am led to justify some glitches in self-esteem with being passive.  This has to be dealt promptly.

Shortly after the previous week’s hiatus, I have concluded how thinking equates to therapy.  It’s expected (to say the least) to a melancholy state of mind.  One just has to learn to filter thoughts.  It’s therapy – not hindrance – to an au natural walking psyche.  But too much of it is Prozac – destructive in a way that is addictive.

For a person who once fought and frantically fights inconsistency out of her being, it is to be assumed that she desires consistency from herself and others.  It’s an attempt at security knowing the insecurity the problem at hand brings.  The problem (or rather, the threat of the problem) triggers the solution.

If I were to be my own shrink, I’d diagnose internal entropy – if there’s such a thing.  Seriously, I’d like to teach concord to my id, ego and superego.   I guess it’s all about subduing them three. But most importantly and preferably, it’s bending the will to the right source.

I refuse and henceforth refuse being nondescript.  Not my thing and especially not my nature.  Such a shame if I should waste away like that.

The past week has taught me a lot of good things.  In fact, they’re beyond good. Wielding to refuse condemnation was not big a dilemma but it wasn’t piece of cake either.  The key, I guess and I have peace of assuming correctly, is love.  Hate shouldn’t be my business because it isn’t.  Have I got the nerve to wield it? Not even the right.

If I have to describe the inclusive emotion of the previous week, I would no doubt say bittersweet.  It’s a paradox in itself just as how the past week has been.  Were we created ironical? ‘Coz it seems our very nature – both human and spirit – shout all sorts of ironies.  Mostly, good ones I would like to believe. 

By and large, I wouldn’t expose such a parody of myself (and mind, in particular) in unrestricted space.  But this is an exception because otherwise, I wouldn’t have enough impetus to write when I had wanted to.

In conclusion, you don’t really have to understand my babbling.  As I said, it’s like therapy – this whole rambling thing, this madness. ;)

And no, I’m not at all about to take full interest in Psychology. At least, maybe not yet.

Spotted Chuck Bass

It was like one of those silly moments.  Kez and I uttered those words that probably had our Father give in with a laugh.  Even the angels probably aww-ed with wonder at our childlike – or childish – excitement. 

The first one was close.  We let out a girly, giddy shrill as our eyes got a hold of the pink Blues Clues stuffed animal hoisted by the mechanical hand.  But our fancy was rather momentary.  It succumbed to gravity before we could rejoice. It was close - so close in fact, that the prize was just a few millimeters away from getting into our hands. We heaved out a big sigh.  And God must have seen our letdown but fighting, hopeful spirit.  He couldn’t let us down this time – not when we put so much of our hopes into His hands.

We didn’t waste time to ponder a second try.  With double effort and extra-needed faith, we mouthed our prayers – this time adding “In His name” and “By His blood” to the conclusion.  I guess God must have blushed with jest at the very scene unfolding before Him.  Around us I noticed two or three teenagers watching and Timezone’s security guard trying to hold in a guffaw as he watched the outcome unravel.

A few maneuvering moves of the stick later, we settled for what we deemed a good spot and let out one last murmured plea.  Then Kez pushed the button.  We watched in much anticipation as the mechanical hand grabbed perfect hold of the pink fluff and moved it to the perfect landing spot…and dropped it, almost unbelievably.

We shrieked.

Our eyes couldn’t believe it.  What was the probability?

We really weren’t able to get over the astonishment fast but I came back to my senses quick enough to notice the guard grin sheepishly and a few bystanders almost fascinated not by the “miraculous” event but by the reactions painted all over our faces. 

Good thing we didn’t look our age. J

Honestly, we went through some heavy chow time thinking over the name we would give the pink stuff. 

Destiny? Summer?

How can you say it’s a she?

It’s colored pink.

But it looks more like a he to me. The color shouldn’t be a bias factor, ya know.

You’ve a point.

Plus, he’s got that scarf – which makes him look gay, actually. Ha, ha.

Conrad?

How about Caleb?

Ummm, no.

Well I guess it doesn’t sound right for a stuffed toy. Hmmm. Let’s think of something relevant that happened today and relate the name. How about relate it to Alice’s?

The Madhatter, of course! Maddy! We can call him Maddy.

Cute but how about Johnny? Like Johnny Depp?

Not quite.

I know! He has a scarf. How about Chuck? Like Chuck Bass always wore his signature scarf.

Oh, right! Perfect! And he’s spotted.

Perfect. So it’s settled then.

“Spotted: Chuck Bass,” we chorused, mimicking Gossip Girl’s infamous voice-over.

And so that, my dear friends, was how it all came about.

But you are afforded the right to call the little fluff Chuckie, if you’re chummy enough with him.

Don’t get us wrong though.  We really just had the time of our lives – reliving childhood and making God laugh, probably.  Not that we’re all pathetic and all. Just living ridiculously young. Really. ;)