The past few days have been anything but peaceful for me and there is nothing I want more than to have a couple of hours rest and relaxation. I desperately want to sleep now. But unfortunately, such liberties cannot be taken. I just finished washing the dishes my lil bro and I used for lunch, plus a couple of microwave containers (those plastic ones) and the little bowl he used for breakfast. Of course washing the dishes is an activity that was never prescribed for the good of one’s fingers, that is a universally acknowledged fact by women, even men (I’m not trying to be a sexist). Thing is, it is also a universally acknowledged fact that no one can escape the sheer horror of dish-washing. So here I am updating my blog after almost a week of absence, now and then staring at the tippy-tips of my fingers whose skin cells are beginning to shed. Nagbabalat, in layman’s terms. It doesn’t bother me, really. I mean, it isn’t that worse yet and hopefully it won’t be worse anytime soon. So…yeah.
Since I wasn’t able to write several entries I should’ve made earlier, here are the incidents which have happened lately that my conscience feels the need to narrate.
April 6, 2007
General Cleaning Day.
When we turn our house inside-out to rid it of its disorganized state. When we arrest even the smallest of dust particles for its unwanted intrusion in our humble abode. When we spend the whole day slaving over a pathetic excuse for a room to change its pigsty-like state into a room fit for royalty.
(Obviously, the last sentence can only be applied to me out of all the inhabitants in our house.)
I started cleaning my room at about nine o’clock in the morning after eating my breakfast and the first thing I did was to empty my closet. Picking up a couple of hangers in our helper’s room, I brought them upstairs to organize those hand-me-down’s mom gave me. I sorted them, and all of my clothes for that matter, into categories like “dresses,” “skirts,” “formal wear,” “pants,” and such. After doing so, I put them back in their proper places, the metal rack where the hangers are located or the spacey drawers where I put most of my clothing.
When the last of my pajamas was carefully folded and neatly put back in its proper place, I moved on to fixing my dresser. I have two shelves at the north-western corner of my room (if you are facing the wall adjacent to the door). The top shelf contains some of my books, like some dictionaries, the pocketbooks I like and a few Word-Find puzzle books, while the bottom shelf is where my dresser is. I stacked whatever things were in there in the neatest way possible before moving on to the most troublesome thing to fix, the box under my bed, which contains my old school stuff.
Great. More dust, I thought. And more dust there was.
As much as I wanted to just throw those thingamajiggs away, they hold some sort of sentimental value to me (keyword: sort of) thus my inability to discard those things away. I must tell you, slaving over one stupid box full of old, dusty school notebooks and yellow-paged books (I have books since my preschool days and notebooks since grade 3) was one hell of a tedious task. Add the Year I stuff which I brought home a week ago and - TADA!!! - a very worn-out and tired Louise is the product.
Speaking of Year I stuff, I am very pleased to say (Oh feel the sarcasm) that my basket, to my great horror, had creepy-crawlies in it. Okay. One thing. I hate spiders. I loathe them with absolute abhorrence and despise them beyond anything on earth. But when I saw those freaking centipedes inside my basket, I had this feeling that my Phobia List lengthened by one more item.
Oh great. Now to get my mind off that topic (the basket was sanitized, of course), I finished cleaning my room in record time: FIVE whole hours.
Isn’t that great?
April 7, 2007
It was at about two o’clock in the afternoon. We went to this place called Richmonde Hotel for an overnight stay. Their lobby wasn’t enything grand. In fact, it was small. I got bored waiting for dad to finish checking in and got a headache while on the elevator (just like in airplanes, I get headaches in elevators). My lil bro and I immediately started watching TV once we got in our room and mom and dad relaxed under the covers. Courage the Cowardly Dog was on and I appreciated the mindless fun my lil bro and I experienced which of course didn’t last long because we got into another one of our brother-sister spats and about five minutes later, we became friends again.
Dad and lil bro went to the swimming pool to take a quick dip and Mom accompanied them to watch. I stayed in our hotel room, alternately reading a book and watching TV, while rolling over the bed and enjoying the luxurious life of being on aircon 24/7.
The other three went back about an hour later and we prepared for a trip to Megamall which was a walking distance away. There we did grocery-shopping (Mom and I had fun eating on the bed in our room because it was prohibited at home so we decided to make the most out of our liberty) and I got a bag of chips and some chocolates to eat later on.
April 8, 2007
Richmonde Grill was small too and there was a waiting line to eat inside. And yes, we waited. Our patience was rewarded, however, by the satisfying meal in the buffet (though I didn’t like the Baked Mac). Toast, Egg, Bacon… ah, heaven! We stayed there, savoring what was in the menu and ate to our stomachs’ content.
So after a hearty meal, we went to church to attend the easter mass. Then it was check out time. Afterwards, we went to Metro Walk (and had experiences which I will not disclose to my reader) then to Eastwood City. And boy did my brother have fun! We finally bought him his much awaited Game Boy and he immediately started playing with it after mom gave it to him. Then lunch at Shanghai Bistro (I liked their tea) and finally, home sweet home!
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Monday was pretty much a free day for me. But I had to go to sleep early because Soccer Training was at 6 in the morning.
Darn. Well, I gotta go and rest (and finish my kumon and the reaction paper for FIVE novels). So, I guess I’ll see you soon?
I’m worn-out!
