i blame the full moon.

Oh hey, hi.

I haven’t blogged for a while— well, ok, I have, but mostly they were too embarrassingly emo to release to the entire weblogniverse so they’re in private mode. Whatever. Disclaimer: I am not on drugs nor drunk. It’s just a sheer randomness and utter frustration over things that drive my fingers today so bear with me.

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I feel like I’m nursing this huge balloon inside my chest (no, it’s not really the reason for my chest’s size either), and I feel like I might burst in the most morbidly cool fashion. Cool in the sense that you will be stunned by my sudden implosion that you might just stand there in awe at how absurdly cool it was, drenched to the bone in my green slime. (I dunno why it has to be green, but that’s the vision I’m getting).

I’m frustrated and oddly secure and my head does not ever stop and I just want to figure out whether it is better to be wise, and logical, and not feel, or be stupid and great and  emo. Honestly, I don’t think I can afford to be either, so I’ll just stay as my usual contradicting self. I’m just not so sure if that self is really worth having around.

I am too snide and arrogant and incredibly hard to live with, and I don’t blame people for not wanting me around. I’m having a month-long episode, and no, it does not concern love. Thank friggin god.

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Speaking of, my self-esteem has been raking in points and lifting me from my self-imposed social pariahness. Somebody actually likes me. Ha.

Ok, it may not be the sing-and-dance love thing that everybody seems to be so preoccupied of, but it’s a start. It means that I may not one of the hotter girls, but I could still make a guy look twice. Or thrice. Or one long one.

It means that exercising my feminine wiles is not an exercise in futility.

But being the ever pessimistic, knowing these things, as much as it has provided me with newfound arrogance, has just built me the concept of my ideal boyfriend.

Which, in my opinion, is bad. One should not build an idea of the ideal. That’s stupid. And the more bricks you lay on your ideal, the less probability it is to actually find that and be happy. It’s directly proportional.

I am not building my hopes on “matalino, gwapo, mayaman” and all that bullshit. If it were merely those things, it would be incredibly easy. My bricks are being laid on things incredibly rare, that only a miracle can actually provide them. Or maybe, the miracle is that when I find that person who does not fit, I would not actually care about my standards.

Yep, I hope for that miracle.

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The full moon is messing with my head. I must go to bed now.

~ by denice on 9 February, 2009.