Friday, January 04, 2008
Sabbaticale
I'm really, really, really starting to believe in the superstition that says people with moles on their soles (sorry, couldn't resist (^_^)) really love to travel.
I mean, here I was, spending the entire afternoon turning lethargic and going insane over a half-finished paper (5 pages out of 10, to be exact. And it's about poetry. And not just any poetry, it's about a sonnet about the immortality of love. In Olde English.) that's already due Monday, when some unseen force tells me that I need to get up and go somewhere. Anywhere. And this is, like around 8 in the evening. I finish dinner in 5 minutes, and just take a tricycle to the station, go all the way down to an already closing Sta. Lucia, walk around, and spend almost an hour looking at DVDs at the small tiangge outside.
The moment I got home, everything changed, though it still was what it was before I left (Jonas of The Giver-ish comments aside); the night was darker, the garden was greener and smelled better, and even the house looked warmer and more inviting than what it was an hour or so ago. In short, the place literally became a breath of fresh air.
And I am now typing my seventh page out.
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