Here’s a really nice link about obsessional thinking:
Oh yeah… I think I may have it.
Mr. Xavier (also known in some circles as The Job Hater’s regular pester, or the Borat-defender fiend of the Abyss, or — a long time ago — as Alvin of The Shoe Factory) gave a trumpet call yesterday in one of my posts (see his comment on the post titled “Life Just Threw a Curve Ball!”).
I was curious about this obsession issue because I feel that I have an acute case of it; if I allow myself to give in to it, I may ruin all that I have and all that I am. So, earlier, I trawled through several sites and came across the article whose link I’ve Continue reading
Gawd, I miss the people at The Shoe Factory.
I never thought I’d say it this early, and someone had mentioned that it seemed too easy for me to let go and break away. But it isn’t like that at all.
Today feels lonely. Ghostown lonely.
I miss the banter of my group. Kim, Redcaptrio, Tetet… We were together in one shift, and there were always moments set aside each day for nonsensical conversations that sent us to giggling fits. Then there are also others, like the Sandy Egans, the old Severians… As one Shoemaker said, our bunch contained colorful personalities.
And who would have thought that I’d be pining for the Continue reading
Strong hands pushed her over the edge, and Ann found herself plummeting toward the bottom of the shaft. She heard herself screaming but her mind was reviewing the jumble of things that happened in the last few days. That meeting with the Elders, shrouded people who told her about the truth of her background. Then the Guide, who pushed her just now. He was disguised as one of the prisoners of the fortress, not saying much and, at one time, also bullied her inside that prison. But after Ann met the Elders, the Guide revealed himself to be an ally, telling her important things that she must know before getting out. Things Continue reading
Seeing so much nature shows on TV has lulled me into a false sense of complacency. There isn’t anything amazing about rain in the tropical jungle or the thunder and light show that illuminates the purple night skies on certain times of the year. But Mother Nature has a way of jarring ahedonistic inviduals, such as myself, out of their complacency.
It happened last Saturday, February 7. Nothing much. Just a strong downpour that beat a steady roar on our tin roof when I woke up to the alarm at three in the morning. I had the morning shift that day. But with the downpour going on outside, I hit the snooze button, reasoning to myself that at three AM, the waterworks will have a chance to peter out by four or half past four. I went back to sleep and dreamed happy dreams. Until the alarm sounded again at four fifteen. Continue reading
Why do I write?
A large part of it is psychotherapy for my overloaded gray matter. Tata says that I think too much that he fears for my sanity, which could snap any time if I mull and percolate for a great part of the day. And this concerned person who has tattoos on both biceps and bellybutton area even asks if I sleep at all because each time he has to go to the bathroom to drain his kidneys in the middle of the night, he sees me with eyes staring bug-eyed at the ceiling, deep in thought.
I think too much, and that’s why I am thankful that writing was discovered or invented because, at least, I have an outlet for the thoughts jostling around my head like a pack of sugarhigh kids with ADHD. At least, twenty plus years on, I’m still sane, to some degree, at least.
Writing allows some of the thoughts to the surface, where they could do their hyperactive attack on paper, in a computer monitor, on a sheet of white paper wedge between a typewriter’s roller Continue reading
Now I found out why Tata really likes the movie Mr. & Mrs. Smith, which stars Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt [no adjectives before the names of both Ms. Jolie and Mr. Pitt, take note].
It came out while I sat behind him as he drove down the lush tropical jungle that is our home down to the sweatshop where I earn a living.
The discussion that afternoon had been my approaching exit date from The Shoe Factory.
Oh, I haven’t mentioned it here yet? Silly me, it completely slipped out of my deranged noggin. But, it’s true, avid readers and friendly neighbors. I have — the adverb “again” is appropriate here — resigned from The Shoe Factory.
Date of effectivity: February 16, Year of our Lord Two Thousand and Nine.
Last actual day in the factory: 14th of Continue reading