Nevergirl’s

Things at the workfront are a little crazy at the moment. we’ve had to take on more people. Before I picked the 10, though, I had to screen about 50 applicants—and that’s way more stressful than I could ever describe here. I had to do the screening within a week, and get all 10 started right away. If we meet the deadline for this launch, I… I don’t know what I will do. I will wander the countryside. I swear to God, I will wander the countryside. I will just be so giddy and happy, and I will maybe try to go around the countryside all dazed and shit, and then go home all drunk with happy thoughts and a strong, strong feeling of accomplishment. Then, I’ll try to invent a tranquilizer-tipped dart gun or maybe Vitamins-fortified wine.

So, things at the workfront have been a little crazy, and I’ve taken to doing weird things to cope with the stress. For instance, I’ve taken to staring at switch plate covers online; arunno why exactly; it isn’t like they would suddenly prove crucial to my continued existence in this side of the hemisphere. Another useless coping mechanism: I just spent the last five minutes reading about a corndog fryer. Yes, a corndog fryer of all things. The copy includes the startling information that “the Hot Dog and Sausage Council says that any Hot Dog 7″ (18 cm) or longer can be called a foot long.” That is just not right. I am frothing with rage against the hot dog machine!

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I found my old diary recently, and I’ve taken to re-reading a few pages every now and then. “Leaving home leaves nothing behind,” I’d written years before; I was 15, and in Silliman University for the regional round of a writing contest.

I wonder now what I’d wanted to leave behind back then. It must have been something, that emotional baggage. I rarely want to run, and when I do, you can bet a month’s paycheck it’s over something really tormenting. “What did you want to leave behind?” I wanted to ask 15-year-old me.

I’ve done a bit of traveling the past few months, and every time I come home, I come home unchanged. I still run into doorways and doors. I still fall down stairs (no compost bins in this house, thank heavens, or I would’av ended up there too!). I still slip wherever there’s a surface, and bruising knees and shins so bad people ask who beat me up. I still forget things, especially keys and whatever it is I desperately need to find at the moment. Whatever it was in me that changed while I was away, it probably changes itself right back before I step through the door. Yep, leaving home leaves nothing behind, more so if you’re leaving because someone broke your heart. You can’t run from heartbreak; in fact, if you change zip codes, you’d only end up bringing it with you. What a very depressing thing to think about while stuck in the airport at 11:25am.

I am not in this room, shivering in cat-print jammies. I did not just spend the last two hours pounding away at my laptop, frantically answering emails. Nope, I did not just tear my hair out over the impossibility of winning the war against an inbox that grows fatter by the hour (and in between emails, agonizing where to find a receipt printer at this late hour). I am not in this room. I have not been swallowed by work. I did not just spend the last 10 minutes contemplating an evil deed, ultimately deciding against it. I’m on a bike zipping downhill. The sun is ringing out from an impossibly blue sky, and I’m singing my lungs out to Counting Crows’ Accidentally in Love. Thrice.

When it comes to presents, I’ve the emotional quotient of a 15-year-old. Forget telling me to wait til Christmas to find out what you got me; chances are, I’d tear off the wrapping paper right away. Yep, that’s how ridiculous my EQ is when it comes to presents. And so, you can just imagine how befuddled I was when I tore through what seemed like yards of yellow ecru to end up with a talkbox.

Why on earth would anyone get me a talkbox? Sure, it’s a Dunlop Heil, and sure, it can be set up with a guitar amp. But what on earth would I use it for? A friend says it can be used to make distortions but right now, the only distortion I’m familiar with is visual—and that’s been corrected thanks to my eyeglasses, thankyouverymuch.