My creative muse is summoning me in a rather unusual time of
the day—for the normal person, at least.
It’s 3:30 A.M. and I am currently in a McDonald’s having a
meal of cheeseburger and fries which serves as my lunch. It’s the first day of
my week-long vacation leave and my messed-up body clock forgot about it, so I
am here following an American time zone… or that of Mogadishu, or freaking
Timbuktu. Whatever. Fact is, I just woke up and suddenly wanted to write
something.
My fries are hard, stale, and tasteless. The Sprite tastes
of floodwater. The cheeseburger is too oily. A gang of call center agents are
sitting in front of me talking in their maximum volume. Dave Grohl is one of
the coolest people alive. I dreamt that a group of Filipino artists formed an
Oasis tribute band and it was unspeakably rubbish… not that I am attacking the
artists per se, but they chose the wrong people to do the job. I mean, Top
Suzara as Liam Gallagher? What the actual
flying f---? The Kurt Cobain book I recently purchased talked to me in an
email.
I can barely remember what I was listening to before I
started listening to Oasis. My memories that Noel Gallagher would not be happy
about were abruptly flushed down a Champagne Supernova and replaced by a lot of
British bands that my friends haven’t heard of. I am not sure if I really want
to continue writing at this time and in this place, or just watch my recently
downloaded episodes of New Girl
instead. If someone would ask me who my girl crush is, it’s most definitely
Zooey Deschanel.
I really want to write something. I’ll organize my thoughts.
My muse is distracted by the laughter of these call center agents talking about
a trip to SM Baguio. As in THE SM Baguio. Why
take a trip to nature’s serial killers, I thought. But they won’t listen to
my opinion because they don’t know me.
I promise I’ll be writing
decent, coherent thoughts on my next entry.
