April 2, 2003

6:25 pm

Cooking Pasta Pessimist-o…

Bankrupt. Unemployed. Obese.

            (endless, tiresome mixing of scrumptious-basil-licious pasta sauce…)

Hopeless. (My body is an arena of wrestling hormones). Remind me to scold my hormones tonight. Bloody PMS!

It’s fun, fun, fun fretting.

First point- my pockets and purses have just vibrated (means zero, void tic-tac-money). It was my last wad of hundreds spent on Apple & Eve’s pink, cotton sweater with rose, silk lining. (God! No regrets! I make a lovely strut wearing it, PLUS I fit in size LARGE… still!)

And now after countless job-hunting, to no avail, still unemployed. Ugh.

I am a newly graduate, by the way. Took Child Development and a crash course in Literature. (draining water from pasta… slightly drooling)

Love children, see? They interest me- their one-tooth-missing grin, brow-wrinkling look, sloppy kisses, crumpling hugs, their devilish ways and innocent remarks. And the way they call me Teacher Li- loud, whiney, sober even, or gaily. Sigh… (slurp.. yumm.. like sopas.. ehe.. You arse, this is pasta sauce!)  Miss my little angels! Yes, small but they could be dangerous once they swarm and could eat you alive-!

No matter, they’re my life… sigh… (sigh is good).

As for literature, (scoops spoonful on to plate. Smacks lips. Jaw slightly aching. Eyes slightly popping. Composing self.)  I have always loved when I drown in its world- the strings and verses and rhymes and words of dark, sinister connivances, and of romantic- or prosaic plots… (groping for mozzareliscious inside the dim, momentarily- non-functional ref.   Blasted! No tic-tac to pay for repair.  Suddenly knocked a bottle of yucky olives. Domino effect.   Half-empty bottle of achara flew. Total mess-city on the floor- of papaya and luya rinds, wrinkly raisins, and syrup, and chevers).

Having a grand, romantic dinner, huh? ‘til here for now (before I trip over my hormones). Crazy.