7/25/2008
17.48

Around twenty minutes ago, Kris stepped off her computer, and walking past me and Glenn, she's wave goodbye like she usually does.

We both wave back, with his eyes peeled to the monitor, and mine at my hand, obviously not waving the way it should wave.

On one side of the office, there's a aluminum tray half-full with turon; I was offered, but I don't really know if I should. And besides, I'm not hungry, even if I only had so much for lunch, in a poor attempt to starve myself to hunger.

The clock slowly ticks to six o'clock. It's gotta get there soon. Another week, another weekend, another Monday.

I'm getting used to sleeping at around ten o'clock; I'm well acquainted to the feeling of genuine fatigue whenever I arrive home. I'd enter my room with the earphones still taped to my ears, perhaps saying one thing while I mean another.

Got some money to spend, living for the weekend.

Yesterday, I was awake for an extra hour, shuffling between Anna and Raisa's windows, waiting to see the indicator light go off before I can be assured of having enough power for the weekend. They're back to being two days long, but they still feel so long, with all the responsibilities young adults must have.

"Hi! How it goes in Nikoland?"

"In Nikoland, it's... not-so-Nikoriffic, and I dunno why!"

I'm also getting used to the idea that, well, I am independent. That could mean a lot of things, but if it means going home without having to get a bunch of paper bills on the console table, relying instead on a card, six digits and a big talking machine tucked away in a corner, then I am independent.

Perhaps it also means fending for yourself. You choose when to fight, and you choose when to resolve.

"Last work day before the weekend, so make today a good one! Good morning!"

And then I realize that Jackie's got work tomorrow.

Twenty minutes before the end of the shift, with an email still in the drafts folder, and the place very much quiet. There's a creative writer applicant on one side of the office, struggling perhaps with Katherine Heigl, the same way I did seven weeks ago - and succeeded.

Look where I am now. I'm merely waiting for the weekend.

I don't know where I'll take myself tomorrow. Perhaps I'll attend my last driving lecture, perhaps I'll get my long-delayed sideline salary, perhaps I'll stuff myself with what my brother wants, while I wonder what's happening to Ranice's party. Maybe I'll go home and do some graphic, too giddy about make-up kits, wondering whether what I said two nights before will really stand true.

"Now I've seen the second photo, it's more likely I see you in my dreams somewhere, perhaps with the girly voice you said you have. And you flipping your hair. Shampoo commercial?"

"Publicity lang yan."

"Well, it's effective publicity. You'll pester me to vote you in my sleep!"

In the end, I will wake up to the same old things. Another week, another weekend, another Monday.

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