Grrgghhhhhh what is so wrong with my PMS days? Since yesterday I haven't felt like writing. Come on! My life depends on this. That bloody headache won't go away unless I take one blue Panadol pill. The only alleviation to get me some sleep. This is not right. I cannot depend on some stupid medication.
Also yesterday, I met the team that started a new Indonesian Internet magazine based in Jakarta. The publication is all in English, so they needed a meticulous editor to polish the articles. I was offered the job for three months, and I took it, even when the meager payment for one whole month equals to what I make in TWO (or two and a half) days of teaching. Let's see how this goes. I always told myself I would be happier writing and editing compared to teaching. But must it come with such an absurd price?
The meeting was at the mall where I used to buy literature books, near the college I worked for in South Jakarta. I bought some copies of poem anthologies and my favorite novel The Little Prince. Mine was lost some time ago. I think my crazy brother burnt it without my knowing. He must think the book is anti-Islam or something. Hgghh. Living a life with a cultish egomaniacally violent brother is very unnerving.
Apart from that, the bookstore hasn't stocked anything new for its poetry section. Damn it. I want to buy May Swenson and Sara Teasdale and Ezra Pound. I also lost my tiny Cupid and Psyche, the Penguin edition (presumably was burnt as well by the psycho). But the store doesn't have it anymore.
Am I getting more headaches just by feeling miserable like this?
Friday, February 24, 2012, 11:30 AM