Dec 23 and 24 I cooked and cooked -- roast chicken and paella and etcetera. I cooked because there were no columns to write and students to shock.
Then night of Dec 24 I went home to my parents' house in Fairview and my yaya gave me a great back massage, using the best of them all: Vick's Vapor rub. My eyes fluttered, I fell asleep, and woke up the next day -- already Dec 25. It was as if all the irritation of the year, the lumps and the knots and the bumps caused by some super-mega-hyper idiotic people at Comelec and the bribe-givers from some unnamed, big political party have vanished.
And so today I am here, trying to write again. I am going to the phone company to ask them to reformat my cellphone because some bug has embedded itself in it. Then I might go to the wake of satirical writer par excellence Adrian Cristobal, dead of cancer at 75.
Or do that tomorrow and attend the party given by one of my lesbian friends, a cook who looks at the world the way it should be -- one eye skeptical, the other one hopeful.
Do not eat a lot of meat.