Brooding

I've just had a wonderful 7-hour phone conversation with my very good nurse friend. She's unemployed by choice, having fearfully discovered she dislikes working in a hospital setting. She prefers to become a social worker - mingling with indigent children and native Filipinos in the provinces. Although her intentions are very noble, these intentions aren't ones that will bring food to her own plate.

She and I were not born into wealthy families with Benzs or BMs. That's our dilemma. If ever we pursue the career of our dreams, we fear we may never be financially content. However, in doing the opposite, we may have enough money to live a comfortable existence, and lose sleep over regrets and unfulfillment.

In our world it seems, there is no such thing as COMPROMISE. It's either you go for it or not, but there is nothing comforting in being in the middle of it all.

One cannot have one's cake and eat it too.

Our marathon conversation breezed thru light-hearted topics like Kris Aquino's quivering insanity and Maricel Laxa and Anthony Pangilinan's intrusive interview by Boy Abunda to more serious and thought-provoking trifles as dreaming of beanstalks and stabbers to "What's Next?" questions and people working for National Geographic. She asked me who's one person I'd like to interview, dead or alive, (like a beauty pageant query), I told her NOSTRADAMUS. And we went on talking about predictions and predilections, stem cells and bovine nerve cell regeneration; how'd she'd like her organs to be donated if and when she dies and how this website told me how I find interest in things most people find boring. We talked about courses of action regarding our respective futures, and credited and discredited people giving us pieces of advice at times when we feel like we've lost the ability to decide on our own.

Depression stinks but it makes for very interesting conversation.

Resurrection

I finally have my computer back home. The feeling's probably like waking up in a hospital bed, confused and ailing and being told I'm on the road to recovery after a transient ischemic attack (mild stroke). Like I don't know what hit me.

So here I am, scanning thru sites I've listed down in times of boredom and frustration. At this moment, I'm checking thru the Franck Muller website. My dad gave me a watch he bought at bargain. It's not too fancy, black leather with labeled buckle and semi-elliptical body, convex sapphire glass automatic 100m water resistant watch called Conquistador SC No.344. Apparently, the stainless steel versions are quite expensive.

I've also been at tabs with a blog of a particular person who doesn't know me, whom I know not personally either. I just came across the page and started reading and found the ranting quite entertaining for my part since I'm hideously attracted to whiny people like myself. It's the kind of therapy group I go to when I feel like relieving myself of angst. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. The truth is, I think there's no cure for existentialism (in the societal sense). It's either a person bears with it or gives an active heap to help someone move on. Surprisingly for some, one just has to learn to listen (or act as if listening). It's all just a matter of getting the stuff out methinks.

Anyway, to continue, I've felt oddly attracted to this person and the writings the past few days. He/she writes very well. I don't even know if the person's a he or a she. Gender is elusive in his/her writing. In any case, would it be weird for me to feel this certain attraction with only a vague idea of this person?

Haaay... I don't know and I don't care anymore. The last 2 entries written kinda dampened my spirits simply because I found the entries too self-righteous and egoistic (as if mine aren't!)

Who cares. I don't even know this person.