Right. Along with checking emails, this is becoming routine. Logging on to Friendster, checking the blog and wearily cleaning out spam. Trust the viagra vendors to find ways of getting through to you. Anyways, I wasn’t being mindful and I inadvertently labeled one of my own messages “spam”. So if I couldn’t post comments on my own page, it’s my fault.
A lot of things that reminded me of cycles recently. Karlo, Kari’s 21-year old first born, died of cardiac arrest; Doc Rod went on to his rest; and it was Meg’s birthday last week.
Maya (I capitulated and agreed henceforth to follow the authorized spelling of her name) had her birthday at an orphanage. Reminder to those of you who will be asked to manage party games in an orphanage, please don’t ever issue a call for “bring me your daddy/papa or mommy/mama” when you’re doing the good old “Bring Me” game. It’s just plain callous.
I joined the clean-up dive yesterday. And let me say this as mournfully as I can — there sure is a lot of trash at Babusanta. Among the stuff we brought up were a busted Suunto dive watch, a cushion seat, a silkscreen design (yes the one used for printing on shirts), an old wallet with a washed out driver’s license and taxi receipts, and loads of plastic, rubber strips and diapers. I’ve a mind to write to shampoo manufacturers and ask if they know how long it takes for their sachets to disintegrate underwater.
And oh, I’ve been really sleepy lately. I slept for 12 hours last night and woke up this morning feeling like I still want to go back to bed — could be fatigue, blood sugar problems or depression. Choose your pick. In my younger days I would’ve sprung for depression — goes well with the romantic notions I have of me — but these days I’m too tired to quibble.
And it’s only Monday morning.
Urgh.
