The mishap brigade intruded my life just recently and I was down the dumps for a fraction of a moment. When you flip to that page of your life's story and the time is indefinite, drop down on your knees, and get lost in prayer. It's not in my nature to sulk really. It's only now that I have realized that when your boyfriend is your best friend, you tell him everything. Yes I do tell him everything starting from weirdest tickle spots, out-of this-world pet peeves, antagonistic bitchy moments, fart warnings, down to my friends' sexual encounters, family issues, and the most dolorous damsel-in-distress chapters of my seemingly fancy life. But, there's always a but. What if it's about him and what you are about to say might loosen the bond. And that is why I'm thankful that I think I have found a girl whose thoughts are plotted on the plane as mine. Your advices are just the best. Thank you Eyan Pascual! I hope you get to read this. :*
Last night, I thought about planning a quarter of my life considering my (quite) distant graduation. Young as I am, my goals are not as firm as they ought to be. But one thing is for sure, I am not going to be a nurse, nor a doctor, ever in my life. Simply because I could not work in a place where you see people having the worst times of their lives. There's so much crying, blood and death. For a person with such passion for words and (over)analysis of feelings, I would go insane in an environment as such. So, by default, I will be a businesswoman. I actually made progress deciding that I will be putting up a nail salon.
As of now, what I see is that girl all dressed up for the runway but acts so sloppy at the back of the classroom, munching on Butterfinger and vividly displaying her finger-licking moment like a kid (unaware that her guy seatmate is finding it... kinky) while endlessly quarreling with her boyfriend on the phone saying that it's wrong to sleep over at a girl's house even if it's with friends over and over. Like a non-best-selling contemporary novel, mine's just as stodgy.
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