It's a matter of gravity pull

It's all in a matter of how you start things.

I woke up last Saturday feeling fairly distressed. The idea was, I'll be going back to work in two days, and I'm still hung over from having arrived from Singapore less than twelve hours prior.

I slept last night feeling a little relieved. The idea was, I'll be going back to work in less than twelve hours, and I'm hung over from having prepared myself from falling into a routine less than two hours prior.

I woke up today without hearing my phone sound the alarm. I shouldn't be covering it, I guess.

I went to Ortigas by myself, as I'm the only one, apart from my brother, whose holiday has given way to the mundane. Everybody else is going back to whatever it is, which means traffic along South Luzon Expressway is going to be a killer. And, as always, I was right.

I arrived at that particular corner around fifteen past eight, walked across two streets, went up the elevator, logged in, opened the computer, and realized that I dropped my umbrella somewhere.

I went down the same fifteen floors and crossed the same two streets. Nothing. I figured I'll buy myself a new umbrella when I get home.

I went up those fifteen floors. I still haven't received an email, which meant Neobie took a chance in asking someone as unreliable as me.

Six movie posts.

Another article on American Idol. Start feeling unproductive.

Kris starts asking about my week-long Singapore trip. I'm having withdrawal struggles, I said. She apparently splurged on a restaurant offering Singaporean food because she missed the island-state so much. I feel that I've been doing significantly less, to the point of having this conversation.

Finally, an email from the folks at Seattle. Yes, I should do profiles for each couple, rather than each individual, on the upcoming season of The Biggest Loser. Cue two hours on eleven profiles. There's a sudden burst of creativity. Ooooh, productivity, how I missed you.

But maybe I had too much productivity. I failed to notice the girls leave. I forgot the very point of going to work. But I also forgot the very point of not wanting to go to work. Well, at least until five.

Email gets sent. The rest of my shift was dedicated to Valerie and despairing over a half-minute voice sample. And, you know, the usual.

I decided to talk to the new girl at work today, just as we waited for an elevator down.

"What's your name again?" I asked.


"Niko," I said, offering my hand. "But that's not what they call me here."

I got myself the umbrella, and I went home, thinking that I'll arrive later than usual since I spent around thirty minutes in the department store. And, as always, I was wrong.

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