Growing Pains

Moving on to Day Three of unemployment and joyous freedom of persuing my journey to literary stardom.

Or...writing something for food. For work. For money.

Had nice tiff with two friends over office matter while having my haircut.

A frightening experience, since this was the first time that I was having it cut this short since I was five and I was scared shit.

I muts have been quite a sight, sitting there, my eyes wide and texting like mad trying to undo, redo or just do something about the situation that I left at work while trying to tell the stylist that I wanted something like Winona Ryder's hair, circa Reality Bites, only longer. I would have told him "Just like Justine Waddells hair in Dracula 2000!" but I don't think he would have seen that.

He didn't cut my hair as short as i'd wanted it since he thought I might die of shock or slump to the ground, weakened like Samson post cut hair.

Waxing poetic?

Should be. I have just subjected myself to the most torturous pieces of literature that I have ever had the necesssity of reading. I won't tell you what because the publishers of said works of fiction will provide me with my next paycheck.

If only I could channel a caffeine addicted ditz, even for a brief moment, that's all I need to earn to pay for my next life insurance premium.

Seriously...

This week is shaping up to be an interesting week for me.

The last time I was out of a job, I had a different perspective on things. I was a lot younger, I hadn't any savings, didn't have much of a professional resume, and no computer!

I was troubled and agitated. I was at a point in my life when all I wanted to do was to get out of myself.

Rhem said it best yesterday at Starbucks.

"You were so eager to listen."

I think I was so desperate for someone to give me an answer that I would have jumped off a cliff if crickets told me to.

Now things have tapered off.

This is the first year that i've had a birthday and actually felt older after, more mature.

And growing, of course, doesn't come without any growing pains.

...

One of the few things that I have heard in leaving the office is just leaving the baggage of "my former boss" behind. That I should just turn around and forget.

I would have loved to just walk away from that office and somehow step into the world outside having forgotten the past nine months.

I don't think anyone can ever understand just how much these people have fucked me up, the trauma that they have somehow caused me.

...

I never fought with my former best friend in all the eight years we'd been friends.

As for my other friends, whenever we'd have tiffs, we'd stop talking for three days to a week, waiting for the other to just cool off. Then we'd pick up right where we left off and things would be fine.

...

It's still pretty much the same way right now, except with my friends from work, who prefer to talk some of it after.

The only difference is that I am scared that each fight will lead to the destruction of that friendship, since all of them are pretty much eggshells for me now.

...

What that fight did to me...it killed my trust in people.

I would have thrown myself in front of a truck for my friends. For a time, I was under the assumption that they would have done the same thing for me.

I trusted my friends completely.

After the fight, I began to ask myself if I could ever give--or even expect--that kind of trust from people again.

You never really know people. You think you do, but you don't. You know this side of them, and sometime that's enough.

Sometimes though, the other side--the one you aren't familliar with--surfaces and you're just screwed.

I got over the "trust issue", but I never really got over the "fight" issue.

...

In the six months that some of my officemates gave me hell since they were sucking up to my former bosses ass, trying to get back to her good graces, I turned into a faction-oriented freak.

Everytime I have a tiff with Xarra or Sally or Laarni, I freeze up and think "Good G, is this it? I'm losing another one, aren't I?"

Maybe it's me with a problem with making up. I have no idea.

There's something seriously wrong when you get scared of offending people whom you consider your friends. Not insulting, but of ever irritating them or making mistakes in fear of losing them.

It's fucked up, I know, but this is how it is now.

If one of the first things that pops into your head whenever you have a fight with a friend is "How am I going to go through life without this one person in my life?" because you are psyching yourself up to losing them...

If you are now wary of trusting people, worried that they will someday hurt you...

If you have to constantly look behind you for things or people, because you are scared for your life or your way of life...

...

When the big-big boss talked to me for my exit interview, he asked me if I was bitter.

I guess I am, if you look at it in a way. It's hard to just get up and walk off to the sunset when you have things like that hanging over your head.

People do bounce back and move on, but they don't do it quite that fast, and it would be unfair to ask anyone else to do otherwise.

...

What scares me the most is having to live with a new shadow.

The knowledge now, wherever I go, whatever I do, they will know. Or will make it their business to know.

I wouldn't be surprised if she's already found my blog and is cursing me to hell or praying for me.

I really couldn't care less what they are doing right now, only that I hope they do extricate themselves from my life, and that I can finally do the same.

But I guess I'll have to live with the shadow for a little bit longer, since you can't escape things like that all out once.

Growing pains suck, but hey. I guess in the end, it's safe to say that it's all worth it.

Last day on Voyager...

Okay, maybe not.

But today is my last day at "my first, ever, real working experience" so I think it's worth the jitters.

I'm not quite feeling the effects of it yet. Maybe I'll start feeling all melancholy once I start packing my things and clearing my workstation. There's a lot of stuff to put away. I still have to move my files so that I can burn them, check my office CDs and books. Maybe it'll hit me when I turn off my PC for the last time.

I'll still be coming back here to see Laarni and Sally, but it won't be the same anymore. I won't work here, and I'll have to bum around the reception area as a visitor. That'll probably feel weird, the first time.

Though I am anxious to just sit at home and write. Everything. The stories in my head have been floating around for so long that it's confusing. I need to write them down, otherwise i'll end up losing them.

The things I'll Miss...

Stuff I'll miss seeing at DAI-Ecogov

I'll miss my desk...

My home away from home. Little fort with a dampening field.

I'll miss McDonalds...

Which is right across the street. The crew has seen me so many times yet still insists on introducing themselves in their spiel.

I'll miss lunch with friends...

Where I got to hang out with my friends over lunch, not really travelling far to do so.

I'll miss my paycheck...

Damn, who doesn't want money.

I'll miss sundae's with Laarni...

Where we'd run to McD's just to eat some stress out of the day

I'll miss cab rides home with Sally...

Which is our time to talk about the excitements happening with our home lives

I'll miss YM's with Sally and Laarni...

When i'll send them a Yahoo message and yet know that they're just upstairs

I'll miss Obet always calling me ma'm

Even if he's two years older than me

I'll miss peeking out my office window

Taking a look at people just going places

I'll miss the faulty water cooler

Which takes so long to dispense water

I'll miss my mobile cabinet

My little treasure keeper. I'm thinking of getting a footlocker now that i'm so used to it

I'll miss my officer terminal

Because it has never let me down and it obeys all my orders. Super fast if I'm frustrated.

I'll miss the DSL Nitro

Because I can just download a song on a whim. I don't have DSL at home.

I don't know what else i'll miss, but I know that there's some more to this list.

What if there were no tomorrow?


I just got one those "tell someone that you love them now, because you or they could be dead the next day" type of e-mails.

Okay, so that's morbidly said. They were nice and mushy, one even had Garfield and and flowers on it. It was nice spam in my mail. Know what freaked me out?

I got two of them. On the same day.

I'm a freak, so the first thing I thought was "Oh God, I'm going to conk out without ever having...somebody."

I immediately made a mental note to cross extra carefully today, be paranoid with everyone else, and not even go out for lunch today.

I go nuts with things like these, mainly because shit that doesn't happen to most people happen to me. Which is alright, since great shit that doesn't happen to most people also happen to me.

But if your life is just as frustratingly, wonderfully, fuck-ass unpredictably exciting as mine, you'd go nuts about things like these too. If you've ever seen the show The Others, i'm like that guy who played Benny in the Mummy. Only cuter and not as creepy.

I read a sign from the street, something clicks in my head, I follow it. Call it instinct, call it luck, call it schizophrenia, but eight out of ten it works. I've had some predictive dreams, too. It helps to write them (my recall of dreams is pretty clear...either that or I am writing things that have yet to occur) None of the dreams are of anything major, though.

Mostly, it's "I walked in the kitchen and placed this blue bowl in the sink." Typical, but we don't have a blue bowl. A month later my mom purchases one and the damn thing happens. Or something like "I saw so and so today, she was wearing a nice pink shirt. She said blah." And it will happen.

It's really cool, though I wish i'd dream the winning lotto numbers or something.

...

Anyway, I've had many moments when I thought I was going to die on that day simply because I read/saw/dreamt or heard something.

That's the two out of ten, but it still gives me much anxiety anyway.

As I sat there, reading through my e-mails of "tell the person who you love NOW!" I felt compelled to pick up my phone and just say something.

But the fact of the matter is, there is no one to tell.

My parents and all my friends know that I love them. I didn't have that "pending romance".

On the off chance that some kid who actually read this spam ever tells "their person" that they love them, you have my ultimate virtual support.

Two days ago, I got added on Friendster by my "college crush".

It's not a big deal, but it made me squeal anyway. He was a big man on campus, and since I was being an anti-conformist (I was an 18 year old snotty debater), I made sure that I didn't like him just because he was smart, charming, and cute.

I ended up liking him not based on his merits, but because he liked Macross/Robotech.

Shallow and deranged, I know, but bear with me.

That cartoon shaped my life.

That obsession matched nothing: The X-files, David Duchovny, Trek, Robbie, Damian. It may not be my thing right now, but when it was, my friends wanted to hide under rocks just to escape my serious drones on Macross. It was the first and last thing on my mind. What I thought about as I showered. I spent Christmas, Birthday and savings just to buy soundtracks (which got stolen) and models. I have the Japanese songs and the Robotech songs memorized. Heck, I had pages of the novels memorized. July 16 is marked in my calendar as "Rick and Lisa's Wedding Anniversary". Fuck, I wanted to join the Navy because I wanted to be "Lisa". Whatever organization or order I had in high school was influenced by her character...which turned out to be a good thing since my teachers said I was somewhat organized in high school.

Not a lot of people liked Macross-Robotech.

I took to hanging around in Robotech chatrooms and e-mailing people listed on the back of Robotech comics. It's like cyber-penpals for geeks.
Anything to meet other people who was just as into it as I was.

Thus, "college crush".

He was so into Macross that I just freaked.

I also freaked when I found out that he already had a cute girlfriend, who happens to be really nice. Freaked again when they got married a year later. Freaked now when he sent me a Friendster message.

It's nothing, and we're nice friends. Not close friends, but okay friends that I care what happens to their marriage.

But the thing is, that is the extent of my "die tomorrow" person. Him.

I guess i'm just finding it sucky that the only death defying revelation I have to give is "You know, when I was 18, I had this huge crush on you because I associated you with Hikaru Ichijo/Rick Hunter".

He might just throw up from shock.

555-1963

I saw a segment about this guy who left college in 1977 to busk the Boston streets.

He'd been taking Chemical Engineering in Northeastern when he got sick of the system and quit (wow, sound familliar?)

They were interviewing a bunch of street performers, all of them doing their thing in subways and in downtown Boston. One of them was this twentry something kid in a clown suit, making animal balloons and swallowing latex. In the middle of his performance, he looks at the camera with a nervous grin and says:

"I hope my mom doesn't see this, she thinks i'm in college!"

Cracked me up. Though what blew me away was that he seemed really happy with what he was doing.

I'm always appreciative of people who busk.

When I used to work in Ortigas, the high points of my day were: Sabre hotdogs that I really couldn't afford for lunch, and the guy who busked underneath the Ortigas flyover.

His voice is a cross between Paul McCrane and James Taylor. Butter. There were times when I just wanted to stand there and listen to him all morning. It seemed amazing that amidst all the noise and pollution of EDSA, there's this wonderful thing lurking underneath it all.

I gave him 20 bucks every time, and with just "training allowance", I couldn't really afford him either.

I'm not saying that I'd love to busk and forget about it all. Heck, I can't even lose my Body Shop obsession. I have to put in Mango Body Butter in my year long "poor gal budget" projection.

All i'm saying is that real buskers, those honest to goodness street performers, blow me away because they always feel glad that they're alive.

...

One of my fears is to wake up one morning and say "Okay, now i'm stuck".

Five, ten, twenty years from now, I don't want to sit in my car, wanting to hit my head on the wheel, because I am on my way to a job I hate but can't can't give up because I need the money too much. Or to be driving home thinking of those moments in my life where I could have done differently, chosen differently, because heaven knows this life wasn't doing anything for me.

It's not worth it.

And just when you thought that it was the fault of life or fate who just happened to have grabbed you by the nose and you just followed...you'll realize that there really was no one else but you who lead you there.

That's just sad.

...

I guess this is me trying to psych myself to April 1st, where I will wake up and think "Wow, I don't have to go to work in Ecogov. Ever. Thank God."

I'm not totally sad about it. I feel sad that I won't be seeing my friends as much, but that's about it.

I'm proud that I got to this point of my life. Maybe it's not what i'd originally envisioned, but I feel good that I got here.

Writing for food (that's what I call it if you're doing it as a "job") scares me and excites me at the same time. But it's what I always wanted to do, and I'm just happy that I got to the point where I was strong enough to finally admit it.

Losing all my funny

The day before my friend Xarra asked me why I seemed to be slow in updating my bogs.

I told her that I'd made a lot of drafts but never published it since I seemed to have lost all my funnies.

I have this thing about being funny. I actually hate people who have zero sense of humor and cannot for the life of them take a joke.

When my cousin and I had the fight, I was more upset with the fact that she thought I couldn't take a joke than the fight itself, since I always thought myself to be ridiculously funny.

I hate being around people who aren't funny, they're boring. People who have lousy comedic timing irritate me. I don't understand how some can have the words, say the joke, and somehow mess up the delivery. It's baffling, and it's one of my standards in chosing which people to hang out with.

If your sense of humor does not match mine, then you can just forget it. It's especially worse when it's with someone who is equally funny in their own right, but not when they're with you. It can either be Abbot and Costello, or Whatver Happened to Baby Jane. You can get thrown into this awkward lobby of witticism that doesn't fly that it ends up dementedly funny, or have the misfortune of being thrown together even if you hate each other--too much. You know it's just pretend, but it hurts to see the two crammed in the small expanse of your screen.

I just don't like unfunny people.

Thus my problem.

I seem to have lost my funnies. Not something new, but whenever it does happen, I tend to freeze up and panic.

This was caused mainly by the positive responses from my friends and some strangers who took time off to tell me I was funny. A sweet thing, I assure you, but caused some major performance anxiety nonetheless.

Funny is addictive. There's a certain rush associated with making people laugh that you want to do it over and over again. Even if it means having to eat vanilla ice cream with every condiment found in your kitchen and making everyone think your friend Luis goaded you into it.

If my cousin is reading, please tell Neil that it was all part of an elaborate plan that was telepathically orchestrated when we saw the tub of vanilla ice cream and the bottle of tabasco next to each other on the table.

If Neil actually read this...we thought it was funny. It didn't hurt at all. And I really do like curry with everything--vanilla ice cream included.

After the party, Luis and I talked on the phone and did a telephonic high five.

...

Which is why I hate having one of my un-funny spells. It'll probably blow off when I finally leave DAI, yet another major contributor to Let's-Bore-Kriszia Foundation, with the former boss--who can kiss my @!!--sitting on the board.

Maybe it's stress coupled with the fact that my life is about to change yet again. It's a serious time for me, which I don't really mind. Well, except for the unfunny part. That really yanks my chain.

Thanks to the people who have phoned in to ask me how I was in person though.

I'm happy to report that I haven't fallen off a cliff, ditch, hole, port, edge, black hole or quantum singularity. Though my humor seems to be in flux.

I'll peobably be back to my chirpy self a week into April, when I will finally get to do something that I haven't done in months--sleep, have a vacation, without ever thinking--it's only so and so days before I go back to work. ARGhhhhhh!

Holy moo!

My former boss--sigh--recently found some growth in her ovaries.

Yes, we ought to pray for her. After all, the woman meant something to me once. She was my former best friends mom, she fed me dinner, and on some occassions was nice to be. Even during those time when she was putting the pressure on me, she claimed she was being nice to me. That's gotta be half a point.

I was going to give her a novena for whoever is the patron for fertility or hsyterectomy's, since that's how we Roman Catholics are. We have saints for everything and we ask them to help us reach God. I thought I should make that clear. Heaven forbid I start a "you pray on statues" debate.

So here I am, feeling all sorry and even guilty for something that I had no control over, when her puppy dog assistant walks up to me and asks me when I am using up all my leave.

I have five days left and a gazillion more things to do. Where the fuck was all this workload last November, where there was a drought and everybody was slipping into a coma.

I informed her that I was only going to use three of the five days since--as evidence by the mountain of paperwork in my cubilce--I have a lot to do. And no, I wasn't going to take any of their money, I just wanted to finish my assignments so that I can part in good faith with my new--and cooler--boss, Ms. Becky.

So puppy dog yaps back and she converses with Big Mama. She yaps back to me and tells me "i'm sorry, you can't take three days off for the last week of March, you're contract only says your up to March 30."

I blink and I say "sure, fine. whatever. what the fuck is another day to not get paid, it's just twelve dollars anyway."

And it really is fine with me. I tend to round off my paychecks the lower number, even if it is a significant amount, so losing a days pay isn't going to hurt my budget.

...

I have bionic ears.

I have sensitive hearing and eyesight. My friends used to tease me for having night vision and being able to hear stuff from about 30 feet away, even with outside traffic blaring and the airconditioning humming in my ears.

So it wasn't a hardship to hear the former boss--good grief--who WROTE the ending date in my contract go "Oh. March ends on the 31st? Gee, I didn't know that. Oh. Oh well. Tell her she only stays until the 30th, since that's what's written."

Hell holy crap.

Bend over, hold ankles, flare your ass cheeks and set up a sign saying "put your dick here", because you are so about to get FUCKED over.

Jeebus, is that woman evil or what?

What she did seems is so incomprehensible that it's bordering on entertaining. A (masochistic) part of me somehow can't wait for the next fire of abuse just to see what else she's capable of doing, since you can't possibly stop at this.

I'm just thinking "Wow. You really are making this whole forgiveness-humilty thing difficult, if you're doing this."

I feel like setting up pinatas and giving away cocktails. I feel like i've been spun so hard around the anger loop that i'm super happy now. It's f-ing un-bel-iv-able.

Just A Thought

Kung niligawan ka ni William Hung, sasagutin mo?

Playing Hookie

Yesterday I decided to skip work and headed off to Greenhills with Xarra.

I woke up to a breezy summer Tuesday morning and immediately thought "damn, the days too good to go to work".

The monkey in my head had pretty much hemmed and hawed and told me that my remaining work days would be enough to finish my remaining tasks in the office. The conscious side of me that actually deals with people told my mother that I'd be taking half the day off.

Plans changed when I almost got ran over on my way to work. (Don't ask.)

I just thought "Okay, that does it, i'm taking the day off."

I texted Xarra and asked if she wanted to play hookie with me and skip work. I thought I was being a nasty influence when she texted back and told me that she'd been considering going to Greenhills the night before. It turns out it was her day off.

Well, it was fate then. Destino. I was so going out and no one can stop me!!!

Unfortunately, i'm not a mall person. I don't hate the mall, I just don't like the mall. The people scare me and window shopping doesn't really interest me. If I spend more than an hour and shopping for a particular thing in one place I feel terribly inefficient. I think it's a holdover from my previous shopping experiences from...ermmm, with people that shouldn't be mentioned. Let's just say that I don't enjoy walking for close to 15km looking at shoes that look exactly the same.

Good thing that Greenhills isn't your typical mall. It's a combination mall/costco/kickass sample sale/outlet/flee market, only with new stuff.

We stayed mostly for the jewelry and some serious money-making errands, but found ourselves shopping for other stuff anyway. I introduced Xarra to my style of speed shopping. Ever seen Look for Less with Elizable Hasselbeck nee Filarski? That's me. Give me a budget and a vision and I'm set to go. Heck, i'll even do it on a time limit.

I didn't speed shop with Xarra, who likes to browse. She was somewhat aghast that I can tell if a pair of jeans fit me even without trying it on. I used to be able to eyeball my shirts, but I up top during my stay here at DAI. THANK GOD.

I went home with clothes, underwear (my new obsession), some accessorties, and a huge smile on my face.

We ended up going to SM North again, where my aversion to malls peaked and just had to go early. Despite my dislike for the mall, I seem to be in the damn place evey week now, courtesy of new resolution to have more night outs and meeting some new people.

All in all, it was a great day. If you ever wake up and find yourself facing a great day and you want to skip out, skip out. You'll have plenty more work days, but great days are rare.

And if you get the chance, stop one moment and take a deep breath. A really deep breath. Then take a look around.

Those are people. This is a chair. That's the sky. This is the earth. You're in a planet that hangs suspended in a universe that you may never get to see in your lifetime (you could get REALLY lucky).

You're this person, you exist. But one day you won't. You'll die, you'll get to answer all these questions that you have. This is a moment. Feel it. Because you will never get it back.

The Things I Could Have Done But Instead I Watched "Milan"

1. Read and built an argument on a globilisation OpenDemocracy article.

2. Cleaned both our bathrooms.

3. Cleaned my room.

4. Added another chapter to my fanfic--or at least flushed out a chapter outline.

5. Walk ten kilometers.

6. Built the bones for an outline for my book.

7. Fed, bathed, and walked the dog.

8. Read more of Laarni's Scriptwriting Book

9. Worried some more on how to make money for the next two months.

10. Watched more BBC World.

11. Fucking slept.

12. Learn more on HTML.

13. Organize my home files.

14. Called my friend Karen.

15. Written a long overdue letter to my friend Hannah and actually mail it.

16. Wrote the reply e-mail to Dino.

17. Bought knitting needles from the mall.

18. Learned how to knit a row.

19. Called the recylcing hotline and learned the core basics of segegating, recycling, backyard composting, and how to sell your own compost.

20. Made some more money.

Instead, I actually thought we'd get to see something worthwhile.

What I saw was 45 minutes of sap that killed Jim Brickman's The Gift and any belief that I had that Claudine Baretto was a good actress. Also, a five minute "love scene" that suddenly turned shy and showed only arms, fingers, lips and Claudine's "ecstatic" face in half-illumination.

It's like an aborted blush. I've seen lotion commercials shot better and with a lot more sensuality than this.

But Piolo Pascual is a an absolute gem. He's a decent actor. I'd love to write for him. That chick who playes his first wife is pretty good too.

We Interrupt This Program...

I'm not a huge fan of romantic poetry.

My fav "love poem" is the whole of Song of Solomon. The only ones I found mildly interesting are Neruda and some dirty limericks.

I always thought Marvel a bit too tame, his mistress a bit too coy for my liking. It's like watching Original Sin with all the sinful parts cut out.

But I was wrong.

I made a mistake.

I spent high school listening to a bunch of girls giving a boring recitation of said poem.

And college getting through moronic guys who stumbled through the words.

But this one...

This was how it was supposed to be read. Performed. Delivered.

And wouldn't I LOVE to be that girl. LOVE to be that girl. LOVE to be that girl.

Kriszia's Fun Run 2004

Damn, I feel like there should be fireworks and dancing monkeys and cheesy midi files playing next to that title.

This has got to be one of the most physically challenging things I have ever done. Ever. Ever. Ever.

The last thing that Laarni told me before she ditched me to run in the first leg of the race--don't worry sweetie, I still love you--was "I will look forward to reading your blog tonight!"

Of course, I didn't post a blog and she didn't really log on. Both of us were dead tired after 10 km. And while she had the nice benefit of a day in the spa right after the race, I spent most of it trying to sleep and convincing myself that I'd really done it.

That i've gone through the ten fucking kilometers, that this wasn't a dream and I was really at home. That I wasn't daydreaming and suddenly snap to in the middle of Roxas Boulevard still running with camera in tow.

I've never been good at documenting any of my "wow" experiences. Truth be told, when they happen I just tend to sit there and think "hoo boy, that just happened to me? Me?"

But for all ye friends who were waiting for this--you had better pay up buddy. Fun as it was, those 10 km were not easy and there's a lot of starving children waiting for your pledges!

As evidenced by my previous post, my day began at 1:57 am.

As my friend Xarra thought after reading my post: "What the fuck are you doing still up at 1:57 in the morning?"

Good question.

I spent the day before at the mall with Xarra, running errands, hanging out, and pitching my idea for a movie--which we both thought was suffeciently challenging yet mushy enough for the Filipino market, which I plan to take via a quiet but intense storm.

Since there aren't any quiet places to discuss at a mall and we didn't want to leave, we succomed to the inevitable and just headed off to Starbucks, where I ordered mistake number 1: a grande White Mocha.

I haven't had any sort of caffeine for about a week--coffee, tea and soda included.

I went home with my eyes wide open and the realization that I had skipped dinner.

After making arrangements on how to get to Quirino Grandstand at o'fuckass early, I tried to be a goodgirl and follow Laarni's text message/advice.

Don't be nervous, it'll be FUN. Eat lots of carbs. Sleep early. Get a lot of rest.

Of course, all of that went down the toilet as soon as I realized that the only thing I was capable of eating was a Country Style Crueller.

Plus the fact that I spent a good ten minutes charming Mark--who's rarely down by five and up at seven, much less EIGHT--to come pick me up after the race.

I went down at around 11:30, telling myself that I'd get up at around 2:30 to check out the race schematics before heading off to the bathroom to shave my legs.

By 12:30, I realized that my eyes hadn't closed and my left hand was growing a bit numb from nerves and the caffeine.

As a person suffering from MVP, caffeine and nerves do not mix. It makes for a shitty sleepless night. And curses for me for having done both.

I decided to just get up and surf for a bit. I checked out the race route schematic again, which seemed to have grown longer due to my sleep deprived brain.

To calm myself, I decided to go watch a movie. I pulled out the copy of Mannequin that i'd bought the day before--courtesy of my latest Andrew McCarthy obsession. I got halfway through the first half before my computer went on the fritz and just conked out on me.

Not his fault, he needs the update and it's 2:30.

The cab was going to pick me up at 4am, and I hadn't packed and I needed to shave my legs.

Packing has never really been a problem for me. I saw a segment on Oprah about packing wisely and I have never been the same. Since I saw that lady cram a a weeks worth of clothes on one carry on, I vowed to myself that I would never overpack. Or spend more than an hour stuffing things into a bag.

It took me about five minutes to grab a fleece sweater and just dump it inside my WWI french army bag. Then off to the lucky belt back and in went my rosary, travel size Endless Love by Victorias Secret perfume, wallet, cell phone, and sun glasses.

I may pick compact bags, but if there's room in there, stuff is coming in. I'd pack my Koala bear in there if he'd fit.

Anyway, 0300 I was in the bathroom taking a bath. 0330 I was out. 0345 I was dressed and starting to panic. 0350 cab comes and I run out. 0355 and I run back in because I forgot my camera and a spare t-shirt.

Off the house at 0400, with my mother sleepily waving me off at the front door, telling me to come home early because I needed to write a publicity blurb for my uncle's jewelsmith class.

I called Laarni and offered her a ride, partly so that we didn't need to find each other once there and partly because I was so nervous I wanted to throw up.

After picking up Laarni and her boyfriend Eric, we headed off to Quirino Grandstand.

Laarni hadn't slept either, so u stwo zombies tried to settle down as we made our way through. I must have chatted a mile a minute, it's a wonder why Laarni didn't just hit me in the head. I wouldn't shut up!

I was so nervous I felt like throwing up and dancing at the same time.

Since there wasn't any traffic, we made it to the park in under an hour--a remarkable record since it takes an hour to get anywhere in this city.

I hovered out of the cab, feeling woozy from lack of sleep and nourishment.

This must have been the dumbest thing i'd ever done: be in a 10k race with a total of 1 1/2 hours of sleep, a cruller the night before, and two small bottle of energy drinks and two chocolate chip donuts the size of hockey pucks for breakfast.

I felt like leaving my ID at the Red Cross station, until I realized later on in claiming our racing packets that I forgot my ID and just had my credit cards for identification. Did they charge for rescues?

I also made the mistake of not loading up my cellphone. I had about about two phonecalls and five text messages left. I figured that I could just call Laarni's phone and beg Eric to harass the aid station to come get me.

The remaining call and text are for Mark, so I can yell at him to wake up and come get me.

We spent the next few minutes checking in our things and looking for Trina. I was bouncing all over the walls and taking pics of everything, including a rather miffed Laarni when she couldn't find Eric. (That's what you get when you don't have enough sleep)

At around 0530, we decided to forego waiting for Trina and started warming up. After a few minutes of stretching and ten minutes of running, we ran back to the starting line and got in line for the race.

Funny, that race start. It completely disillusioned whatever thoughts I had for a marathon.

There were around 13,000 who registered, and about six thousand of them showed up--all of `em crammed in a starting line less than 50 feet wide.

I spent the ten second countdown mooshed between two guys and clutching Laarni's hand, who was bouncing up and down on the confined space beside me.

This was her fifth marathon, I think. She wanted to see how fast she could finish the ten kilometers, thus she would be running all the way.

She did, though, walk me through until the first bend. Since that's what you do when you have six thousand people trying to run in tandem--you walk.

At the first bed at Pedro Gil, Laarni waved goodbye and just ran, while I set myself up for a nice pace and jogged the next fifteen minutes.

And thus, the adventure begins.