Wednesday, October 24, 2007

"I'm too sexy for a job."

Here's an attempt at writing as Paulo Coelho does:

I was sitting by myself at a cafe today. On the left side of my table sat the half-read book by Paulo Coelho that had helped me pass the time while on the right was a porcelain ashtray with a single cigarrete butt still emitting a faint smoke. My Moleskine was laid open in the center, hoping to be written with one of those rare words of wisdom or at least the words of a dream. Unfortunately its hopes wasn't met as my mind was completely empty.

It is mind-boggling how that always happens at the time I am most open for inspiration. Maybe Jean Anouilh was right;

Inspiration? A hoax that poets have invented to give themselves importance.

A word that us mere mortals tell ourselves and others as an explanation when we were struck by a momentary genius without sounding too proud nor vain.
It was when I got home that I thought of this, because for the rest of the afternoon I was contented by just staring at the bare pavement ahead of me.. seeing nothing particularly special as I thought of nothing especially particular.

I was out for the entire day today (yesterday). To be quite honest, it's been a while that I've felt this busy. It's ridiculous since I did spend my entire afternoon at Coffee Bean! hahha!

I had a rendezvous with Bahijah today and it was nice. Just hung out for a bit and made ourselves weary everytime we mentioned the word; "work". Looking forward to make Ana just as weary next time! hahhaha!

Footnote: I am having the worst blister on my feet because my shoes were too cute -- naturally, it HAS to hurt. My body is such a mess, the nail on my thumb; DISGUSTING!


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