A Retaliation To Plethoric Expectations

It's unnerving how people could just so suddenly misconstrue your substance just for crumbling short of their expectations; for not doing what they calculated you to do. Some would even appraise your sincerity by your consistent participation in their life. I just thought, this world will surely be a better place, if more and more people would be less egocentric; latched on with their realization that each one of us has an arduous life to tussle with too. 

Entrenching expectations maybe considered a grown-up kind of stuff, but hoarding too much of it--to the point that it has become unrealistic, could be comparable to nothing but the temper tantrum of a terrible brat. I tell you what is realistic:  Do not expect to receive 100% of "whatever" from others if you cannot do the same for others yourself. GOD expects 100% from us, because HE is there 100%, but none of us are, that is why it is absolutely nonsensical to set your expectations like GOD.

I write this in response to people who are making a fuss on my online inactivity/absence lately. I am quite in a challenging stage of my personal life these days and this is one of the moments in my life that I just want to think a little more of myself and my family. To sit still, be quiet and enjoy the growing miracle that GOD has blessed my womb with.

I wish I could just tell everyone what to think, but that's the Devil's job. So much as I want to mess with that Wicked-Dude-From-Downstairs every single time, my usurpation of his reputation wouldn't do anyone any good either. Instead, I'll just send a message, something GOD made me so good at: I will still be around,  but may not be as often as before. I will not ask you not to think less of my friendship in my absence... I'll just hope you wouldn't.

The Clapperclaw Of The Murphy's Law

You have this covert proclivity to premeditate detrimental possibilities, but on the other hand, you've also kind of have a reputation of a positive thinker--you understood that your image and your real self, are two different things. For that reason alone, you invariably give each of your withheld negative musings the benefit of the doubt. There is no freaking way... that would be your response to each of your abrogating rationalizations--though you're not really sure if you actually believe in any of your catoptric conjectures. It's just that, there are days that you cannot seem to antithesize who you are trying to convince with the words you are exhorting, between yourself, your other self (if any) and the people around you.

A regular person may fancy about anything entangling their attention. But since you do not consider yourself a regular person, you do something that is scarcely done by the vast majority. But then again, since you also believe that your mind is capable of devouring the whole of the universe itself, your brainwork swelled into your reverie of  the breathing abstraction of all possibilities: the sun shines--before it gets really cold--the fluffy snow didn't stopped gravitating until its accumulation reaches 10 feet high. You lost in a dancing competition--before you got depressed and got hit by a truck--but survived, losing everything except your head, torso and everything in it. You're so broke--it could still get worse--and menacing--then you found out you won the lottery--after you accidentally pitched your winning ticket in the blazing flames abiding in your fireplace. 

Now, have a deep breath--because you really can't stand repugnant fantasies. So do I. But these are just few of the undeniable realities that happens in the real life. Things happen beyond our control--good or bad--from comprehensible to the unimaginable. And sometimes, no matter how hard we try to convince ourselves that we've already snift the worst crap, we've actually not inhaled anything yet.

You must be curious about what could possibly prompted me to write about these horrendous things. If not, I will tell it anyway (this is my blog, remember? ).

It was after I blogged about how things could possibly go wrong without the electric-powered-man-invented-gears (see entry), induced by our home computer's consistent reminders of its desire to retire, our workstations at work--the Local Area Network (LAN), all went down and offline for 2 straight days. Which requires us into carrying out the antediluvian ways of doing our operations.  I mean... really? All these things has to happen the very day after I hurt my writing hand, when I accidentally (stupidly) slammed an aluminum door right on it. Of all the time the circumstances should have made it easier for me to write manually, I just had to injure it first. These, more than anything else, propelled me to excogitate the Murphy's law--an apothegm or a traditional saying that typically states that "Anything that can go wrong will go wrong" 

Lemony Snicket calls these form of anomalies A Series Of Unfortunate Events, to others just stark sequences of bad luck, while to some just sheer unpropitious coincidences. But as for me, these mishaps, howbeit they must be defined, unambiguously makes me as fidgety as the lodgers of the infernal regions.

Just Another Episode Of A Daytime Nightmare...

It's a lazy Sunday, it's kind of cold and damp outside; the sky's covered by gloomy gray clouds--ought to release drizzles of the wet stuff. I sat on my cushioned wooden chair--fronting my study table, with my first cup of freshly grounded brewed coffee; opted not to turn my desk lamp on, that way I'll feel a little cozy. I have decided to rely on the flaccid natural light coming from behind the frilly curtain hanging on the window; for a change. As I did my first sip, so I commenced my favorite activity of the day, and any day--thinking. 

In memory of Metatron, my laptop.

I looked over my desk and saw my concept notebook--bound in a leather organizer--written by my own hand, an old Warriner's English and Grammar Composition Complete Course book, Strunk and White's The Elements of Style book, my handy Webster's electronic Dictionary and Thesaurus, a metal box filled by catalogued index cards, my smart phone and stylus, a conglomeration of junks and whatnot. Something is missing... Ah! My laptop. I missed my laptop since it decided to retire--I can't afford to replace it with a better one just yet. I thank GOD, however, for allowing me to own an awesome super powered phone, teamed by a pair of fairly swift and precise texting thumbs, and an intrinsic HTML programming skills; at least I can still enter this blog entry in its most presentable form, using a smarter-than-the-smartest-man cell phone. 

After my second sip, I held my pen and began to write--in my usual calligraphy, of course--I cannot really write in cursive with the same consistency. What will happen if our contemporary technology dissappears? That's the first sentence I wrote, and then I paused. My mind froze. It went blank as a devoid sheet of paper. I am convinced that it was such a horrid thought--for a known techy geek as myself, at the very least. 

I'll probably own an electronic typewriter, I wrote underneath the question. What if, even the electronic typewriters cease to exist because there will be no more electricity? Was my ensuing thought before I could even finish my writing (Got to let you know that I'm in real deal of displeasure when my chain of thoughts comes faster than my writing hands).

(Paused)

I really find it ironic that after I typed the last sentence before the pause above, I needed to do an urgent 15 minute break. Hubby and I drove to the nearest convinience store to buy a couple of Duracell 2032 battery, after my electronic Dictionary/ Thesaurus flashed a warning sign, that its batteries are getting low of power. 

Yes--back to my introspection. What if we wake up one morning and find out that the power--the electricity as we know it, cease to exist? That would mean, no more Facebooking--I subsequently wrote, no more Tweeting, no more emailing, no more online streaming to watch, no more e-books to read, no more blogging... no more blogging-- excuse me, I want to take note that I intentionally repeated the last one with a grimace.

Everything will be as it was before, I continued. The world will look and feel bigger, and slower, and... tedious. Everything has to be done manually again. The Art of  Handwriting--which is apparently vanishing these days, however, could be revived.

Candles and gas lamps will be a big hit, I carried on--but there will be more reports of fires and getting burned. There will be no phone lines, so it will take forever before the rescuers do any rescuing--that is, if there's anybody and anything left to save (Duh?). There will be no television, no radio, no washing machines, no dryers, no more of all those electric-powered-man-invented-gears specifically made for human convenience, no more... arrrggghhh!

Ugh! I am raving over a prototypical form of a daytime horror, again. I got to let you know that I am really like this when I do not feel very well. My positivity seems to fade like the daylight during sunset. All sorts of negative thoughts subdue my mind as an imperial army moving vigorously for their ultimate conquest.

Got to end this episode for the better good.

Now...

I want a piece of cake.