Ad Infinitum

Sharing this poem from Edna St. Vincent Millay. I am so loving it now, I wonder why!?!?!

THE PHILOSOPHER

And what are you that, missing you,

I should be kept awake

As many nights as there are days

With weeping for your sake?

And what are you that, missing you,

As many days as crawl

I should be listening to the wind

And looking at the wall?

I know a man that’s a braver man

And twenty men as kind,

And what are you, that you should be

The one man in my mind?

Yet women’s ways are witless ways,

As any sage will tell,–

And what am I, that I should love

So wisely and so well?

When I first accepted my present job after being told that it requires taking the graveyard shift, two things immediately came to mind: the abnormal disruption of my body clock would definitely turn me to an old woman after a few months, and my nearly non-existent social life would eventually die a natural death.

Today, exactly thirty work nights after, I am thankful that the face that stares back at me in the mirror hasn’t grown old or beyond recognition with a dreaded and dreadful zombie-like look. The guy who sells our daily omelette breakfast confirmed this when he thought that I was my younger brother’s younger sister. This is of course based on the premise that my brother looks his age of many years my junior! And yet another girl I know thought that I was only 22! Well,it could only be that they’re telling the truth or badly wanted to strengthen our seller-customer relationship, and I’m just a plain sucker for false flatteries.

As for my life outside work, it has become most bizarre and deprived! How does it sound if I say that the news is already old news by the time — which is during Saturdays— I get to read the papers (not unless I read inside the bus on my way home and risk straining my already bad eyesight and still end up geting all the news wrong!)? Or that lunch has become a forgotten meal because the lunch hour happens to be my sleeping time. In short, save for dinner,bath and the regular laundry, sleeping remains my only activity after work. And even if work starts at 12 midnight, I am forced to be in the office as early as 930 just to catch the last bus. If not, I’d have to declare bankruptcy by taking the cab every day which really costs a lot.

In all fairness, working at night also has its perks like not having to dress much with care because even if you do, nobody will be there to admire your new pants or fancy earrings anyway;not needing to wait in line for a meal in restaurants because you’re most likely the only customer at 3 in the morning and there’s always a seat inside the bus going home because people coming to work take the ones going opposite. Lastly, you get to watch the sun rise…

How obsessively compulsive or compulsively obsessive can I get? This I oftentimes ask myself. Is it bad enough that, always to my brother’s great dismay, I hoard toilet papers, batteries, shampoos and what have you’s without restraint each time I go to the supermarket? What about my own "segregation" rules for the reading materials? The ones with slight creases, folds or soda spills are instantly removed from the comforts of my protective collection shelf to the coffee table! How about my minutely inspection of the bathroom - - constantly on the lookout for hair on the tub, toothpaste residues on the washbowl or drips of water on the floor? Perhaps I should someday hire a guard to watch over the bath to ease my anxiety! Or could someone explain why I’m so fixated with cleanliness and orderliness that everything in the house should always be in its rightful place if not totally untouched and the least sign of disorder could upset me to no end?

A friend of my brother’s is here on vacation and is staying with us. With maximum effort, I try very hard to act "normal" which means not caring much about the dust that have gathered on the tv or the intercom handset that badly needs an "alcohol cleansing." One exception is the laundry though. Not only can I not let them pile up for another day but I’m forever busy with the washing machine with a towel one minute and another pair of jeans the next. I hurry and panic as though the sun would never shine tomorrow and the clothes need all the sunlight they can get now.

I just hope that my brother’s friend won’t go home with queer stories about me to tell. But really now, she is very nice and pleasantly tolerant of my behavior. If she did find me weird, at least she’s good in hiding it. Right, Chat?

Well, I have realized not too recently that I am difficult ,no, impossible to live with. Not only am I particular about the way newspapers are folded but I am practically a stickler for neatness that I could probably give Howard Hughes a run for his money if he were still alive!

Time to go wash my hands,wipe the computer screen,empty the trash bin and, and, and …