fried day

I awoke from a nap to the sound of my phone ringing. It was a girl, and she was asking me if I could go to Makati before 5pm today for a job interview. She said she works for a company called ESS Manufacturing or something, which holds office at the 41st floor of PBCOM Tower in Ayala Avenue. She said they are looking for a technical writer.

Jobstreet, I thought. Fuck that shit.

I looked at my watch, saw it's already 3pm, grunted. Dashing from Antipolo to Makati in two hours is a long shot, something I'm not at all prepared to take given the circumstances (the rude awakening, the thirty-something heat, the short notice). So I said, "Um, ah, um, ah . . . " like a moron. She got the idea and hung up.

Of course it occured to me to ask for a re-scheduling -- that's what a normal person would've done, especially if he's a reluctant bum for almost a year -- but I'm feeling kind of odd lately, as if I'm having an out-of-body experience. My brain cells are fried, my muscles lethargic, and nothing seems to perk me up. (I know something's wrong with me when I'm reading Tom Wolfe and can't bring myself to laugh.) All I want to do is lie down and think about nothing, perhaps reread On the Road over and over until I pass out from sheer loneliness.

So far this is my Friday. I hope yours is better.