Uncreatively Titled

Dilly-dallying time. I've been staring at the computer screen for how many minutes now, and I'm tired of reading my legal writing. In fact, a while ago, while I was in the middle of editing this paper I've to submit by the end of this week, I laid me down to sleep for a five-minute nap that lasted for three hours. When I woke up from that sleep, I saw the pink of my bedsheet, so I knew I was in my room. For some reason, though, I had it in my head that if I walked out of my room, I would see the rest of my family there instead of a leaf-laden hallway.

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It was snowing when I woke up for the second time today. As the past how many days have been blissfully snow-free, this did not come as a pleasant surprise. I hate snow; I really do. It looks nice and white and pure, but ... well, in the interest of Lent, I won't say what I really think of it. I don't like it at all. I don't, I don't, I don't. Oh well. That's one more thing to complain about.

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For some reason, Natalie Imbruglia gets me right here every Sunday. Her lyrics just speak to me: "Tonight, can I be lost forever/To drown my soul in sensory pleasure" from Beauty on the Fire and "I'm counting down the days tonight/I just want to be a million miles away from here." from Counting Down the Days. (Thanks to Cokelover for the mp3s as well as for the banner, by the way!) Self-explanatory reasons, so let's move on.

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Red Horse, in conspiracy with red and white, mega-whipped my ass two Saturdays ago. Last Saturday, it was J. C. and cotton b. But I was fine then, and I'm fine now. One more time'll make three.

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Why can't spring break start already? I was talking to my sister a while ago, and she said that her school ends on Friday, just like mine does. But when I told her that mine'd end for just a week, she said, "Cham, mine's a real break, as in not just a week." Summertime in Manila. Emergency's over, the beaches await, and the fun's gonna start soon. I want to go home for the summer. But I know that I'll be here.

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I'm drying up here, literally. My hands are red and itchy, and my fingers have the audacity to cut themselves just because I sometimes forget to apply lotion. My goodness. I'll say this for the one-millionth time - it's a really good thing I like me.

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Last thing before I move on to the next dilly-dallying affair: I was thinking of being more thematic in my blog approach. Well, okay, I was thinking of explaining "The Gunner" theme and saying a bit about me and how this blog ties in with that and all that introductory horse that would somehow make for an interesting read. It was a good plan while it lasted.

The Laundry Can Wait

I'm supposed to be editing something right now, but Franz Ferdinand's blasting away, and the laundy bomb is ticking, so I'll put the work off until the one-hour period that the clothes have to bake in the dryer. I've been extremely unproductive today, and I feel really, really good. Okay, I did get my work stuff done - for those of you who don't know, I'll be working as a Research Assistant this summer. Lots of good reasons why, and you can guess at them or get in touch in me and hope I'd tell you. So yeah, there was quite a bit of paperwork that I had to take care of. It was daunting at first, but it's all fixed now, and I'm glad. Why am I talking about work?!

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Let's talk about something else. I got an e-mail from the Father Figure in this place I'm staying. Guess what it was about - Boxelder Bugs that are invading some apartments (not mine; only dust here). Sounds gruesome? Well, click here to see how they look like. And we thought cockroaches were bad. At least cockroaches are monochromatic. Colorful insects are just freaky. The website reminds me of my Constitutional Law professor. He likes making Powerpoint presentations with insects in them. How many classes ago, for instance, we were talking about this case (I can't remember the name.) with a green insect in it (Oh my goodness, I can't remember the insect either.) Anyway, he asked the class what effect that insect had (I think it was a fly) on interstate commerce. The first thing that popped into my mind was how it'd make people stay clear of its habitat-state. My classmate answered that people might flock over there to check the fly out. And yet another classmate answered that the fly affected biodiversity. Different kinds of lawyers with different kinds of answers. I am oh-so-glad that I didn't voice my answer out.

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Just a while ago, I was cracking up because of this trailer. Oh my goodness, isn't it hilarious? It sets my endorphins off like crazy, and I think I'll go to that site instead of the gym when I need to feel happy. But I will start working out when I get to be 700 pounds. I felt so bad/horrified a while ago; I was in a certification class when the conductor said something about morbid obesity and how a 700-pound woman couldn't fit in the elevator in her workplace. Oh dear.

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More than a little while ago, I was downtown, freezing my butt off in the bus station. I don't understand the term "freezing my butt off." It should be something like "freezing my face off" or "freezing my nose off." Or even "numbing my legs off." Well, some things don't make sense to me, and that's fine. A few days back, a friend and I were walking home from the library. I told her that we should get a massage, except that we should get a Thai massage. She repeated the Thai massage phrase, and I knew she thought I meant "thigh massage." That was laugh-out-loud funny. After we laughed about that, she said, "hey, whatever floats your boat." Yeah, whatever does, indeed. But sorry, a thigh massage doesn't do it for me.

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It goes without saying that this site's under construction. Yeah, yeah, I like saying useless things. This blog wouldn't be here if I wanted to keep silent. I make no promises, but I think I'll be posting more often. I just love wasting time. Okay, my wet clothes have been waiting for ten minutes now. Back to the laundry place. Hey, maybe I can catch the last few minutes of American Idol! Okay, I'm out of here.

Blah Blah Blah

Two more weeks until spring break. That's the happy thought I've chosen to start my post with. Yes, this promises to be a ramble, all right. I don't want to look too far ahead, because these next two weeks are bound to be mega stressful. No worries though; I'm a superwoman when I want to be, and my enemies (i.e. readings and Emma Morgan's case) do not stand a chance. I shoot them before they shoot me. And I'm tired of the shooting lingo, so I'll stop.

I feel like I should write an intellectual piece about Gloria and Proclamation 1017. Oh, I have thoughts on those, all right, but I think there'll be a proper time to write that up. Diana Ross is singing "you can't hurry love" to me, and I'm thinking that you can't hurry essays either. They will come when they will. Me and my excuses, yeah? At least I get creative with them. People with boring excuses don't deserve to be excused.

Something creepy happened to me a while ago. I'd just gotten back from dinner with a friend and was settling down to work in a carrel in the basement stacks (i.e. part of the law school library with no windows). I started thinking about something profound and then I started thinking some more, and before I knew it, I was feeling really trapped and claustrophobic and creeped out, and I knew I just had to get out of there, so I did. Thankfully, my friend was heading out too, so we rushed out the law school together. We got home in record time too; according to her, I was walking extra-fast. Creepy, yeah? And I'm not referring to the walking fast part. I'm not going back to that place again. Well, knowing me, I probably will go back just to prove I can. And then I can leave the place for good. Or maybe I'll change my mind. Aquinas says that I can, and he seems like authority enough. I'd cite him in Bluebook form, but I'm not that demented. Yet.

Santa Banana and Holy Cow, my sense of humor is morphing into something strange. Thank God I still find me funny. Then again, I'm always really nice when it comes to me. And I do crack up at the most ridiculous things. I'm sleepy. May it please the court to sleep. It probably doesn't, but what the hey. This is it. The bed deserves my attention now.

Back to One

Let's try this new lay-out, shall we? I was getting sick of the old one, and so it's dead, gone forever, never to be seen in Blogland again. Good riddance, you lay-out, you. I don't miss you at all, and I'm happy that I've killed you. So long, farewell, I need to say good-bye.

I am The Gunner. Chameleons are gross-looking creatures that might substantially affect interstate commerce just like the three-inch fly or the toad named Roberts. And Sofia is apparently the capital of Bulgaria, where I think Viktor Krum is from. The name doesn't fit me at all, so I'm ridding myself of it. Die, name, die.

I am insane. Aren't you glad you're nowhere near me tonight? Enough is enough is enough, I can't go on, I can't go on now. Sleeping time. By the way, I'm fine. Really.

Last Few Hours

My cab gets here in exactly six hours, and my plane leaves in exactly nine. I have not packed yet. I'm getting to it, but it's taking forever. I wanted to put my room in order before I leave, but that's proving to be the impossible task. To think that I have only been here for six months! I am so bad at organizing. I try really hard to do it right, but I fail miserably every single time. It's annoying me a lot right now (I'm always annoyed when I'm cleaning up after myself - and don't get me started on the the cheese-crusted bowl that my sink is proudly displaying), and that's why I'm blogging. I wish my super-efficient friends were still here to give me a hand (or two hands each), but they all left last Saturday. Oh, one is still here, but she's probably sleeping right now. Darn.

Speaking of leaving, last Saturday night, I was chatting with a friend from home who goes to BC Law. He said that his plane was leaving in twelve hours, which means he's probably been home for a good how many hours now. I was so jealous of him at that time. I had nothing more to do, and I really wanted to be in Manila already. But now that I think about it, it's a good thing that my flight wasn't scheduled any sooner. I hibernated for the whole of last weekend, and it felt really good. I'd sleep a little more than half the day, hunt for food with my civilized dollars, then go back home to my music and Snood. Today was the only day I got semi-busy. I got up after noon (after sleeping at midnight), rode the trolley to the mainland to take care of stuff, and then waited for a few minutes for the bus to downtown South Bend.

It was freezing outside, so I hopped on the first bus that came along. The idiot that I am got on the wrong bus. I was spacing out big-time (yes, yes, I know; don't do this or you will get yourself killed), so I didn't even realize my mistake until we got to the last stop, where everyone was hopping out, and I thought to myself, "this doesn't look like the mall." I asked the driver what was going on, and he pointed me to the right bus. I got on that one, rode back to where I boarded, and, after five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes, found myself at the mall, where I spent a good how many hours hunting for winter boots.

I got home at past eight, rested for an hour, and then headed over to the Center to take care of my laundry. I was craving for chocolate, so I got two Kit-Kat bars and promptly spilled crumbs all over my coat. I tried to pick them off but ended up smearing them. Classic. Later on, I tapped the white dryer screen on the edge of the trash can to get rid of the lint (and therefore ready the dryer for human usage), but, apparently, I tapped it the wrong way, so the lint flew joyfully to my coat to join the chocolate. That's not it yet. I wanted to get a drink, so I put two dollar coins in the vendo (the stupid machine wouldn't accept my pennies; what am I to do with those copper toys?), and claimed my Diet Coke. When I opened the bottle, the Coke frizzed down my hands and onto the table. The paper towel machine was empty, so the brilliant me tried mopping the mess up with my used Downy sheets and then with paper strips. Needless to say, neither method was effective. I never knew paper could be so liquid-resistant. But anyway, I found a really simple way to clean the mess up. I'm not writing it here cause you'll think I'm stupid.

When I got back to my apartment, the door wouldn't open. The lock was either stuck or being evil. I hemmed and hawed and hoped that some chivalrous prince would rescue me, but none did (their loss). I got tired of waiting, so I jabbed the doorbell of my priest-neighbour (who is going to my professor next sem) and after wrestling with the door for a few minutes, he got it open, and I was saved from a painful death from frostbite.

And then I took a shower, called people here to either say good-bye when they answered or hang up when their voice mail did (haha, sorry, friends; wasn't in the mood for a mini-soliloquy), and started cleaning my room. I am still here, doing that. I should get back to it, I know. Time's running out, and the bags won't pack up by themselves. I'll end this with a wish: I wish for decent (decent-sized and decent-mannered) plane seatmates so I can get some sleep on that thirteen-hour flight from Detroit to Nagoya.

Recharging

I'm giving myself a few more minutes to recharge. I feel drained but not unpleasantly so. I just need a few more minutes, and then I can start working again. I'm more inspired to work now because the end is so near. Just two more days, and I'll be free. Oh, the plans I have for this winter break. I know I'm not going to be able to do half the things I want to do, but the thought that I'll be able to do at least some of them is gratifying enough. Yes, I know; I've become absurdly easy to please since I started law school. Then again, it's never taken much to make me happy.

I think it's funny how I sometimes segment my life - grade school, high school, university, bumhood, the brief AE stint, then law school. The segments are so artificial, so constructed. Who am I kidding? Life is one fluid whole. But sometimes, it doesn't seem to be that way, and so it isn't. The things that society can do to man. But then again, what is man without society? Man is born into a context. And from the very first day, he becomes socialized, so that there isn't a person-ality apart from his society. To be human is to be contextualized. That's just how it is. And to try to escape one context is to voluntarily insert oneself into another context, either one that already exists or one that he recreates.

I can hear my friend asking me "what are you trying to say?" I'm not trying to say anything. I'm not saying anything. I'm just typing and typing and smiling by myself because of my illegally happy thoughts. Two more songs, and then it's Contracts' turn to die.

Break

I need a break. I need a massage. I need someone to clean my room. Okay, enough with the wish list. Santa doesn't like it when I publish our correspondence. I'm running on adrenaline and junk, and I feel good. I've been pumping coke (the diet kind) into my system, along with regular infusions of frosted strawberry pop tarts and granola bars. When I gross myself out with the prepackaged crumbs, I give Dom a call, and he rushes to give me a pizza. He comes when I tell him to, so I've got no problem there. The only thing is that he actually has me pay for the pie. The nerve of that guy. He should pay me for the honor of allowing him to serve me food. Ah, well, the things I have to put up with to survive.

Today, I tried to be healthy, so I had blueberry-flavored oatmeal (the instant kind) for brunch. It tasted fine, except that there were bluberry pellets in there, so I didn't finish it all. And then I didn't feel like washing the bowl, so I stuck it in the fridge, spoon included. It's purple paste now. Yuck. Time to get another bowl and spoon. The oatmeal didn't even fill me up. During the test a while ago (two down and two more to go!), my stomach was growling so loudly that it sounded like a bear. I wanted to laugh, because I found the sounds funny, but the Crim test kept me somber.

I'm sure I'll be really somber tomorrow, come to that. What a nasty thought. I don't feel like writing anymore. Break's over.

Snow

So I'm posting again. No more justifications or excuses - I feel like posting, and I will, and that's that. I've been violating the principle of legality, I realized - it's not a crime to blog and if the judge that is me says that it is, then I'm wrong and I should be estopped. Nonsense, nonsense, nonsense. I am nonsense personified (just like you, if you believe me). I miss those long stream-of-consciousness posts that I used to do before, but those just take too much time.

So let's talk about snow, really quickly now.

Newsflash: they do not plow the sidewalks. My goodness. Today, to get to the main street from my apartment, I had to either wade or stomp through snow that reached mid-calf. I don't have boots yet, so my feet were slipping all over the place. The pure and innocent-looking snow was trying to make me fall. As if I need any help in that area. I fall by myself all the time. I even have a scar on my right palm that I got about a hundred Mondays back, when I somehow dove to the ground while I was hobbling to my first class, which starts at the absolutely insane hour of eight o'clock. (How I suffer from the sins of men. Eight o'clock in the morning? Now that's harsh.) I didn't fall this morning, but I almost did, twice. And of course, the snow got its fair share of punyeta's and shit. And when I thought it couldn't get worse, the wind whipped snow in my face. I cursed the wind too, and I know it's going to get back at me sometime soon, so I'm bracing myself for that. But I'm safe and warm here, so I'm good, while the snow is outside, getting brown and gross, so it's not good, and that's good. What am I saying? Figure it out. I'm sure there's some profound wisdom behind that convoluted statement.

Okay, that's all. One test down, three more to go. And then the good times will roll.

Cokelover - Check your mail sometime this weekend.

Dilly-dallying

It's the night before my first law school finals, and I'm posting this up. What has gotten into me? Oh well. I'm not going to write about anything related to that, mind. It'd be an interesting read, I'm sure, but I'm not writing it up. My friend here said that I'm imprecise in my language, and I have to say that I can be. Like when I go on auto-pilot and start writing without thinking, for example. That's what happens when I post here - I share my thoughts but remain vague about my life (my present life, at least). That's how I like it, and that's how it shall be.

There's no point in me writing this, actually. I'm just looking for ways and means to waste time so that I can focus enough to get down to work. I don't focus easily, but once I do, everything goes really quickly. Hence, I don't get as impatient as some people do when they can't get down to work when they want to. I wait and wait and then work for a long while and then stop. And the cycle begins anew. It's not the most efficient way, but that's how I do it, and I've had no reason to complain.

I want to get out of my room. The bed's too near for comfort is why, and the pictures around me remind of where I'll be in just two more weeks. I cannot wait to go home. I like this place and my friends here a whole lot, but I miss my parents and siblings and family and friends and everyone else from home. Actually, I think I've attached extremely metaphysical definitions to Manila because I think about it so much - the home, the place I know best, the place I don't know at all, the abandoned land, the sought-after dream, the symbol. I'll let that thought bake for a while before I write about it because 1) I don't have the time and 2) I don't want to talk about that half-heartedly. Wow, I'm tabulating. My legal writing professor should be proud. How's that for writing like a lawyer?

But anyway, I think I'm stuck here. The snow is inches high, and I haven't bought boots yet, so if I go out, I'll get cold and wet. But then again, I just might go out. I've been pretty impulsive as of late, and there's no reason for me to remain where I don't want to be. We'll see. If I feel like going out after I post this up, then I will.

This ends here. I'm all for pointless writing, but I'm not going to flunk out of law school because of rambling. Back to work. For real.

Incoherence and Life

I’m in class right now, but my mind is free enough to enable me to write this thing up. On the way to the dining hall for lunch, I was telling my friends about how I wanted to write about this topic last night but that I didn’t because I didn’t want to be any less productive than I already was. Silly thing, actually. All I did was listen to music and think about home, and that’s about as transient as productivity can get. I get annoyed at how stupid I can get sometimes. Especially now, but let’s not go into that depressing and revealing topic.

Anyway, let’s talk about human life and how it is viewed. The common view seems to be that all life is equal, that no one can say that one life is better than another. Intuitively, I agree with this completely. But for now, I am going to try to argue against this notion. I won’t censor myself, and I won’t give much thought to the sophistication (or absence thereof) of my words and terms and to my structure. I’ll just think and write while my professor performs.

I guess the main reason behind the idea that all life is equal is that everyone has that boundless human potential (and because it’s human, it’s boundless, but necessarily bound too – more on that later) and that everyone is called to do different things in life. Therefore, it follows that there is no one standard to measure human life, meaning that every life is equally precious (with the equal not being a standard) and one cannot be said superior to the other.

Is that true? As human beings, we are necessarily bound by time and space. While it may be Platonic to say that the potential of humans exists on a plane on its own, it may also be said that this potential depends on the body, which grounds the possibility that this potential can be manifested and that in fact so manifests it when it is time. Unless, of course, it can be argued that the potential of human beings is completely divorced from their bodies. But I’m not sure if I accept that because all human knowledge (or knowledge about humans) is revealed through and verified by human experience, which means that there must be some external form or manifestation of this. And also, the detection of human potential depends to a large degree on the humanity that is revealed by the human body. If a cat was born of a woman, I don’t think the cat would be called human and therefore be deemed to have that inherent human potential.

Oh boy, I’m qualifying myself a lot, aren’t I? I don’t even know where all these qualifications fit in. I’m just typing down thoughts as they come to me, while my classmate is being grilled on Alabama law. Okay, I’m sick of qualifying myself now. I’ll just spit out the point of what I wanted to say. Well, except that I’m debating with myself in my head, and I don’t really believe any side enough to write stuff down. But wait, I’ll just complete this thought.

Okay, what I was going to say was that there might be some basis to the objective standard that some people are better positioned to manifest their potential than other people are. And now that I’ve typed it, I take it back because I don’t believe it. I can’t do this anymore. I’m getting distracted by the FreeCell game to my upper left and the constant click of the mouse pad, which means that the classmate behind me is playing Snood. And I want to play a game too, but I want to play Tetris, and I don’t have it here.

Boy, I don’t like talking when I don’t feel like it, but I can write and write nonsense for as long as I can think and my fingers can type. So let’s end with a possibly profound thought: In less than three weeks, I’ll be back in Manila. But before that, this war must be fought.