Friday, September 24, 2004


Q. How is Granny?
A. She's almost always, to my eyes, in some sort of pain. Human contact, particularly from warm hands, is a comfort. She's stronger now, so maybe the damned disease read my letter and decided to ease the pressure on my Granny. Not to read like a vulture, but methinks everyone is just waiting for her to die.

Sidebar: All of us are waiting to die. It just doesn't hit home until-- we're 80; under siege from a deadly, incurable disease; or attacked by a bunch of curable ones latching onto you one after another like unwanted relatives. Hmmm... kinda brings new meaning to Roberta Flack's Killing me Softly.

Q. How are you?
A. Sick. Something respiratory. Am harboring suspicions that it might be that bacterial infection with the flu-like symptoms featured last night on local tv. I am infirm, but saddled by the need to meet a deadline, so I cannot really rest.

Deadline? Job? you ask. Nahh, it's not "really" work: because it pays in prestige and goodwill but not money. Tell you all about it when I'm done. Do or die time. As I told my client's rep: "Don't thank me yet."

I got myself some new rubber shoes, recently, for P250. Buys like this satisfy Macho Dex and Domestic Dex: I have been rarely as happy with my purchases. Guess the folks at Gawad Kalinga are right: give a man a little dignity (in my case, new shoes) and he can be motivated to do all sorts of things. Why not stop by by the by, and have yerselves a look-see?

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