overcast

Inclement weather the whole night, and this morning I woke up to a world sunk beneath inches of filthy rainwater. Everything is wet and windswept; to be out there is to betray one’s instincts.

And I'm worried sick about my wife, out there in the cold, on her way to work. Somehow it doesn't feel right: it's me who should be out there suffering for our little family. She should be home enjoying a hot cup of tea and the warmth and comfort it gives, the cool bed, the soft fluffy pillows, sleep, Frank McCourt, maybe CSI: Las Vegas on DVD. It's only kosher. I feel less of a man, so useless, as if somebody had ran away with my balls.

I need cigarettes badly. And a bottle of beer to boot. A pair of ears to confide to. Rain is still pouring outside, and inside I’m cold and damp.
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addendum: magnifico!

About two weeks ago I interviewed this Italian dude named Giorgio Bucciarelli for an article regarding Volare, the newly opened pizza place in Araneta Center where he is head chef. The write-up appears in today's Manila Bulletin as cover story for its Taste section. I wish I could put an online link here, but there's none available and I don't want to trouble myself figuring out why.