Choices

So we have this v. giggly classmate in fiction. Everytime she laughs, it drives us crazy:

Prof: You know I want to create a character based on her.
Bambi: And kill her?

Hahahahaha. Hah. Hahahaha.

Friday last week, two classes wrapped up with food, wine, and chit-chat. That's Sir B (with, apparently, this year's Palanca second prize winner for the essay; I didn't know; I've been sitting beside her all semester) in Via Mare. Sadly, those of us who came from Ma'am J's class were too full to order anything thanks to a variation of any of the following: pizza, donuts, empanada, baked potato, crinkles, sushi, and, of course, wine. Poetry class will wrap up next week and Sir J told us to bring food. So this is what they do in grad school? No wonder F. Sionil... Kidding!

Taking my seat, the first thing Sir B told me was, dapat ikaw ang manlibre, I just signed your check. Haha. A bit more short of money than usual, I wanted to tell him, "Can I cash half na?" Hehe. But seriously, I picked up a book I've abandoned before and found - of all things - a payslip between its pages. Normally, that thing (for me) is laden with deductions (absences, tardiness, etc), but the particular one I found had none, and it reflected, in my mind, a respectable amount. I miss getting paid on a regular basis, such as when you run out, you always know the 15th or 30th is a week or so away (obviously, saving is in a completely different galaxy).

Eva and I, we both thought we could hack it. But walking into Papu's earlier, she told me she might not last long. Me too. I need to either step up my whoring efforts or stop getting picky. These, or I shall say hello again to cold showers, complaining about traffic, and perpetually wishing that the elevator would go a tad bit slower. A desire to take 15 units next sem is yet another complication. Why didn't Jesus give me rich/generous parents?