Random Thoughts

(In any) order of the day, or what's on my mind at the moment.

Completion of report. F&%^$#%$, this has been overdue, dude!

Massage.

Get cozy with . . . Never mind.

Green Tea (no melamine yet)

Blogging.

Car Search. (Man, this is serious I consider this an urgent task). 

 

Readmission follow-up. (Damn , should have complete

d this a year ago!)

Catharsis

I had an improved mood just this morning. On my way to work, I dropped by SM to buy my Aloe Vera juice. But as it is, I ended up buying two shirts that left me poorer by P1,500. But I feel better now. Talk about retail therapy.

I was planning to discuss with A things that kept bothering me the last few weeks. I have been sleepless all this time and I couldn't (or wouldn't) figure out why. Maybe it's . . . I don't know really. Maybe I'm hypertensive, but this couldn't be, and shouldn't be. Whatever it is, I will find out later soon as I get to talk to A.

Things will be clearer soon, or so I hope. By that time, I should be feeling better. Emotional sickness is equally disturbing, if not totally debilitating, as physical and mental sickness. Letting go of whatever emotions we nurse could make us feel better, but it might not be true to someone else, especially if she is the subject (more than an object) of such emotion. But regardless of the effect, letting go of our emotional baggage would yield us more benefits than harm. But this belief must be tested once and for all. So, am I ready to discuss my emotions? I'll let you know.

Reunion

Whew!

It's been three years since I posted my last entry on another site and it feels good to be blogging all over again like it's my first time. Recent events have forced me to resort to blogging since I had no one to share my angst with, much less to listen and appreciate my raves and rants that some may find it too existential, and therefore too unimportant to care about than say, queuing up for NFA rice at the corner store. 

One such event was the 1st alumni homecoming of the seminary where I attended college for three years. It was the first for the college after close to 25 years since it opened its doors to would-be priests.

I had mixed feelings in going to the reunion for at least two reasons: First, I am not a certified graduate of the seminary. I only finished third year because the balding fathers kicked me out before I could move on to my senior year. Nevertheless, I was and am still proud to be a "kickout." They kicked me out for at least three known reasons, at least as far as I can remember and ascertain. First reason is money. We were in financial trouble so I missed a lot of payments. Second reason is "fitness" to the vocation. They (the holy fathers of that seminary) didn't see as a priest material. Third reason is, to quote the priest who gave me the bad news, "I was rocking the boat."

Secondly, I was not sure if we share the meaning of the word alumni, the expanded and inclusive meaning especially. But I was too secure to be affected by these mixed emotions. So off I went to the homecoming.

The homecoming saw seven of us original batch members and one priest who joined us on our sophomore year. 

Beer and merienda were served but what I was interested most was reconnecting with old friends whom I share beer and gin and Mompo and some nocturnal secrets with. 

You cannot simply forget them, this I realize after years of not seeing nor having news about them. Friends aside, there too were the most despicable faces on Earth. But I could only say this with less contempt now. After all, I have been vindicated by their presbyterial stupidities, to say the least.

One priest is  now married to a woman who gave him children "effortlessly." (Dig this). At least he is brave enough to take on family life and "divorced" his erstwhile lover--a co-priest who must have been a very good kisser. Who is "the who", tongues start wagging. 

Anyway, the homecoming would have been a success were it not for the high priest who circulated his personal account number before the alumni and asked them to donate whatever amount they can for a still unclear project. What the f>&^^%%$! 

I've lost respect for the man whom we fondly called "monsignor" during our time.

I have more horror stories to tell, but I have to restrain my fingers now.