Now brewing

Just like coffee. Just as stimulating, maybe, at least for me.

Brewing in my mind lately is the idea of subjecting myself to a self-imposed month-long daily writing challenge. I don't have the stamina of a journalist whose words transform into daily wages but then, what if? What if I arm myself with enough prepaid internet load and then write daily--or nightly, in my case--for the next thirty days? What will this obscure webspace reveal? Even while this is still yet an idea, I've made up the rules: I can't post a previously written yet unpublished piece, no one-liners or quotes from books in lieu of my own words. Will I survive my own challenge? I'd have to let this idea percolate a bit longer.

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Errands. This E word has been eating up my extra energy (which I don't have much of lately). My older sister in the US has given me a to-buy list that could rival the wish list addressed to Santa Claus of a very nice kid. During our most recent phone conversation, Nang suddenly expressed her desire to have an engagement calendar--the kind which opens, in one spread, one-week's worth of days wherein you can pencil in meetings, significant events or probably even haircut appointments. Why she suddenly wants one in the ninth month of the year is beyond me. Oh wait, she explains. Nostalgia. Something to help her recall the year-that-was after many years have passed. And so tonight, the said to-buy list necessitated my side trip to the mall before heading straight for home. I got home safely, thank you very much, but not before running into two near-mishaps.

The near-mishap #1 is when I " lost" the hard plastic numbered tag that guarantees retrieval of the package I deposited near the NBS Glorieta entrance. A swarm of thoughts swirled around my head while I was trying to rummage through my bag in frantic search. If I really lost it, how much do I have to pay to get my stuff back? Or will they even give my stuff back? I'm sure they will! But if the guard asks me what's the number clipped on my package, I'd stammer, "Ah, uhm, you know what, I didn't really look at the tag. So I don't know. Just show me the package and I'll tell you what's inside:3 boxes of HOP polvoron, 3 boxes of greeting cards, 2 magazines . . . ." Now, my memory is resuscitated!

Thankfully, I did not have to pass an oral recitation to retrieve what's mine. I retraced my steps and found my package tag lying on the stack of post-it notes I was previously checking out. But I've learned my lesson: Keep your package tag in a safe place, like your bag. And at least, glance at the number!

The near-mishap #2 would have fallen under the category of a social faux pas that could ignite a religious war somewhere south of Metro Manila. Walking on my way home, I saw "Mia" (as I always do). I don't think she remembers my name but I do hers. Earlier, on the bus, I told myself I'd give her some food. And so when I made small talk with her, I was ready to offer her what I ate on the ride minutes ago. Thankfully, this time I remembered one thing soon enough: She can't eat it! You see, Mia is a Muslim and I almost fed her Eng Bee Tin's Hopia. Baboy. (I cringe at the thought.)

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If this post were coffee, then this makes for one-serving.

Ho-hum, I didn't know "making coffee" could make one so sleepy.