As the end approaches I am suddenly besieged by the usual questions of where to go next. See, this is why I hate ending things, because there’s really nowhere to go, and this is not just some rant, there really is nowhere to go, at least nowhere you really like, but it’s just another round of diving in and letting oneself get carried by the currents. Almost everyone now has a sub-specialty in mind, which probably lent more intensification to the infernal loneliness triggered by the Faciphaga Emasculata last week:

“I think it’s time I get that formal writing course, Smoketh,” I told Smoketh. Smoketh got all supportive and stuff, telling me I could do clinics or moonlighting in the morning and go to classes at night. Sounds brilliant, which sort of brought me up a little.

“I think it’s time I get that formal writing course, Tufu,” I told Tufu a couple of days later when he asked me what my plans are. And just in case anyone is wondering who the heck Tufu is–because this is the first time I’m featuring him–well that’s his real name.
“Eh anong gagawin mo pagkatapos mag-aapply sa MOD magazine?” he said. Before I could give an annoyed grunt he went on a soliloquy of what MOD looks like, its size, the quality of the paper, the articles, the quality of the ink, etc. I quietly slinked away as he went on and on with the specifics of the magazine.

“I think it’s time I get that formal writing course, Tits,” I told Tits.
“Ah… so kukuha ka ng B.A. Interior Design? Maganda yan,” he said in all sincerity.

The brilliance of the inputs is rapidly declining, so I would stop that flight of fancy.

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