So I’m The Great Procrastinator.
I thought I’m way over that stage. The disease has always been one of my distinct trademarks way back in college. I review a day or two before examinations ensue. I finish balancing freakin’ debits and credits a few hours before submitting the worksheet for yesteday’s assignment. I write the editorial half an hour away from the deadline. I submit the feasib draft to the smooching professor a few minutes before she dismisses the class. I love to work under pressure and that’s the way I’ve always liked it. For some reason, it brings out the creative juices in me.
It is no surprise then that until today, when I thought I am already a responsible adult (although, truth be told, my age still hangs on the bracket for the adolescent definition as per the United Nations charter) and earning my own keep at that, I still carry the same irresistible college shit. When I went to a seven-day hiatus in the province, free from dumb Occidentals and oblivious of fake American accents, I wrote a list of things that I thought I ought to do to make the vacation worth my while. The backlogs were:
1. Drink a lot of booze.
2. Visit my grandmother’s grave which I haven’t done for two consecutive All Souls already.
3. Meet up with high shool friends whom I terribly miss and whom I have not seen since Gawd-knows-when.
4. Finish reading two Gaiman paperbacks, one of which was lent by a teammate; Eros Atalia’s celebrated vernacular wisecracks (the Palanca guy is being compared to Bob Ong; though I think they’re two different souls with different stories to offer); a book entitled The Mark Of Man given to me by a friend who is concerned that I am already becoming a chauvinist pig; a thick Numerology thingamajeesm lent by another teammate who, after reading my If God Had A Name post, thought that I needed some Professor Trelawney enlightenment; and revisit Harry Potter’s saga in Book 7 to feed the HP freak’s hunger in me (I still think the protagonist’s scion’s names were too lame. Albus Severus Potter? C’mon!).
5. Go to Baguio and have a much-anticipated gin-slash-beer drinking session-cum-reunion with my Baguio big brothers whose company I likewise terribly miss; the inebriated chorus of us all reverberating across the whole mountain air, ignoring the barangay watchman’s warning, reliving yesterday’s OPM bands through Kuya Charlie’s guitar, complete with the majestic dripping fog of the highlands makes a wicked picturesque scene.
6. Visit C, together with the other college buds, to celebrate her recent CPA Board Exams triumph in the virgin, clear waters of Dasol, Pangasinan. (She is planning to fatten her wallet by having her employ at BIR - Makati. Way to go C! When you get bloody rich, teach me the tricks of corrupting the coffers trade for soon I will follow your footsteps. Of course, I am just kidding!)
7. Finish the blog post about our recent team-building in Tagaytay.
8. Keep in touch with cousins who, like me, have deserted the ancestral compound in the province to search for greener pastures in the Idyllic City up north or in the Hasty City down south (or maybe, just to stay away from the looming stagnation and bondage that provincial life has to offer).
9. Have some quality time with my cute little nephews and nieces who, the last time I chanced upon , were gaining weight like pigs groomed for the next big wedding and were balooning in such alarming proportions.
10. Rest. Sleep. Lie down like a dead-tired Snorlax.
Guess which of these ten have I accomplished perfunctorily. A dismal two out of ten. Gawd, am I a stupid slob! All that happened during that seven-day grace period from exasperating callers and lifeless circuits and dead monitor celluloids was for me to be happily accompanied by cold Red Horse booze oozing with ant-sized cold sweat. I dub thee the Seven-Day Beer Bakasyon. Which also explains the noticeable relapse from the last post to this one. And to which, in grand freakin’ diminutive GMA fashion, I am terribly sorry. Jeezuz, my prose is even becoming lame and lazy. Two successive dependent clauses standing alone. Shoot me!
Nonetheless, I will make up for the lost time. Over the next few days, I will torture myself to wake up at four and endure the repercussions of a five-hour doze and wrap up the over-delayed posts that I ought to have blogged by now. I deserve to be harassed by hot Nescafe cups in the call center vendo (number 1: pure, black coffee, no sugar) to become adroitly awake during my nocturnal shift because I ate my own words. For my sacrilegious resolve to blog at least two posts per week has been shamelessly broken. But that’s no reason to cry over spilled milk, with or without the Chinese melamine scare. I work best when I procrastinate and I orgasm with creative juices when pressured.
Stay tuned.
