MY FAIRLY ODD AND IRONIC SATURDAY

I woke up this morning with a weird jolt.

When I usually start Saturday with a heavy dose of caffeine and nicotine, this morning, I watered my plant. It was really strange, because 'watering my plant' is not part of my routine. I brewed up some coffee and munched on my chocolate-chip banana loaf, given by my student last Thursday, and browsed through my CDs.

While Marvin Gaye, The Temptations, Gladys Knight and the Jackson 5 (yes, Motown) lured me in my morning bliss, I got this strange epiphany (or whatever you may want to call it) -- I want to start an informal school in the province, for the out-of-school youths. Strange. Really. Because such thought usually comes whenever I wanted to calm myself, and at that moment, I wasn't even stressed out. It just came to me out of the blue and I sincerely hoped to make it a reality.

And then bang! I received my first text. Whatever great feeling I felt since I woke up just vanished, as I entered the pin code on my cellphone. Damn technology.

No matter how hard I tried to recall that morning bliss, I just couldn't anymore. My mind got cluttered up by reminders of chores, work stuff, dental appointment and the need to clean up my apartment. Sigh.

So I started de-cluttering my place. I returned the DVDs in their right cases, including those I bought because of the Awards Season and pumped up the volume of my speakers. With the right mix of cigarettes, music and chocolates, I got all the work done, including my formerly-tobacco-smelling comfort room.

How I wish I didn't have to read that text message. It completely ruined my daydreaming, I hadn't experienced one, for a long time maybe because I keep burying myself at work. I have turned into the mechanical prick I've always hated, and I honestly lost track of my ideal nature.

Daydreaming was one talent I've always been proud of, because I was really good at it. I could hold more concerts that U2 and Eraserheads combined, build more properties than Donald Trump himself, fuck more people than Jeff Stryker, start a more promising tomorrow than Barack Obama, wage a more successful revolution than Che Guevarra and pose for more pictorials than Akihiro Sato.

That damn text message was the spoiler, and it only read "Good Morning".

Ironic huh.