Thursday, November 18, 2004
the low below
I am still at work. It's almost midnight. We're data mining for a major presentation and we're not even done. Factbooks dated 1987 to 2004 clutter our cubicles. The ink on the papers is faded, the dust unearths with every turn of a page. This morning, we have yet another clash with Adboard. This afternoon, I concluded that our clients were schizophrenics (or bi-polar or are with multiple personality disorder). This evening, another estrogen-fest with creatives. Yup. We never thought that our morale could go lower. Until we took a break to have dinner.
While waiting for our food in a cafe across the street (my officemates smoke so we sat outside), a woman approached us. She was running from the street, tear-stained and panic-y. She looked like those mother-types, didn't seem harmless at all. She came over to our table (we were the only ones in the cafe) and we could barely understand what she was saying through all the hard breaths. Something about needing money coz someone was in the hospital, with a tube being put through him/her and she didn't have enough money (she showed us a wad of crumpled bills in her left hand). She begged, saying that she didn't know what to do. She left that person (maybe her kid) to look for money. She told us that she wasn't trying to trick us, we can go with her to the hospital if we didn't trust her.
We looked at each other. We confirmed the amount... 800 bucks. Wow. Okay. She better not be tricking us. Of course the thought crossed our minds. This might just be a con. But what if it wasn't? Would we want that haunting our consciences? So the three of us, grief-stricken and all, pooled our money to help her. She went beyond crying as she saw us hand over the cash. She wailed with joy and thanked us like we were miracle workers. She even asked for our names so she could pray for us or something like that... we didn't give them of course.
So off she went. And there we were, slumped and emotionally impaled. Then we ate, recounted the surrealism of what just transpired, bitched about our clients and then went back to work. Man. What a day.
dezphaire strapped in @ 11:39 PM
Sometimes bored. Most of the time oddly alive. Phobic of butterflies. Creatively suppressed. Hungry for coffee and shoes. This is my subconscious talking... at times interrupted by my reality.
a nomad in tofu town
chocolates & sapphires
uncontrollable writing urges
lost in the wilderness
chona in the city
what mama jojo says
a jayveebug's life
driver ng bayan
up dharma down
the patient mental
insane adventures of d
alamat ni kuya jeff
welcome to nio
ang juanang kapatid
anino ni abaniko
kapihan ni qroon naomi's leaf who is eyevan?
lessons of knoizki
marlon's twisted list
blog ni skittles
ideal pink rose thoughts & photographs soul^tude the gypsy cat south central jen yuri's flight manual arie's blog v for vina snippets of a wanderer lazarus' thoughts iskoo glances over the fencesitter billiedoux reviews the shoe blog
Jealousy, turning saints into the sea. Swimming through sick lullabies, choking on your alibis. But it's just the price to pay, Destiny is calling me. Open up my eager eyes 'cause I'm Mr. Brightside -- "Mr. Brightside" The Killers
All words, verses and art are copyrighted to me unless otherwise specified. Authorization and reference required for any form of reproduction or use. Much thanks for your respect and support.
Thanks to ImageShack for Free Image Hosting