My Past and Present Writing. And Cannibalism

I took a trip down memory lane yesterday and was both depressed and delighted at reading the articles and essays I composed while I was still at college. There’s a big gap when I was at my peak, exercising with literature regularly. Now I’d be happy if literature could give me a high five after I faint in completing a single lap. This all due to a long hiatus from the scribbling craft.

This was my past literary diet before:

  1. 12 hours of literature –healthy doses of Derrida, Hemingway, Donne, Flannery O’Connor and more. Yum.
  2. 10 hours of writing including journalism and essay writing courses

Fast forward two years, it’s now about 30 hours of teaching and making lesson materials. Give me a class and I’ll whip you a lesson plan easy. But give me an article and the rusty gears start to creak and I’m all the more aware of my inadequacy.

Are there times when you say to yourself, “I nailed this before. Why can’t I do this now? I’m supposed to have grown better with age.” I’ve grown right. With experience but my writing has slid down, deteriorated because I neglected it. So for you guys out there, you gotta keep it up, man! Never let things slide down. Practice! Practice!

So I’ve decided to let my past self entertain you for now while the present me decides to lurk behind the curtain, embarrassed and strive her best to catch up.

If Only Cannibalism was Legal…

I would like to strangle those who don’t meet my standards. I would like to chop their bodies into little bits, stew their innards in marinating juices and eat their hearts for dinner.

If only cannibalism was legal.

Incompetence in people is something I can’t abide. I’m used to working on my own so it’s hard to adjust leaning on others.

We’ve just been given three weeks by our teacher to stage a production from scratch. Holy Mother of God! Three weeks! Anybody knows that’s hardly what you call an adequate period.

I would like to present the workload given to me by my boss:

To the publicity manager:

Things to do:

  • Posters (coordinate with layout artist)
  • T-shirts (coordinate with layout artist)
  • Streamer (get list of sponsors from marketing manager)
  • Souvenir program (coordinate with layout artist)
  • Tickets (coordinate with layout artist)

It’s exasperating. On my every move I have to depend on someone. And it’s not as if the layout artist, marketing manager and I see each other everyday. We have only one class together and it’s on a Saturday. I have to cross all the way from my room to the other side of the campus like that cursed Chinese lover who has to thread on galaxies to see her love. Only I’m no starstruck girlfriend. I’m here on business. And what do I get for my efforts? The word later. LATER!! There should be laws against such verbal abuse. If only they’d hang a banner on their side: Kate! I haven’t done what you’ve told me to do! DON’T BOTHER COMING OVER!! That way I can see it beforehand and save my legs from more torturous journeys over dangerous terrains.

Because of their procrastination, I can’t do anything. The workload hanged heavy on my mind. I felt I was Atlas and the burden of Gaea rested on my shoulders. The minutes ticked by as the deadline loomed closer and closer. I lied in a constant catatonic state. It had reached to the point where I’ve mistaken the wastebasket for the laundry.

Finally, I couldn’t stand it. I had to do something so I grabbed my pen and made a new list.

New things to do:

  • Pester layout artist to death to come with the design
  • If this doesnt work do the ff. emergency procedures:

§ Rat poisoning

§ Hanging

§ Whipping

§ Cyanide

From then on I had his number on my redial button. I left fifty messages on his answering machine everyday. His cell phone was littered with messages like: I NEED THE LAYOUTS NOW!! or DRAW OR DIE!! Thanks to the technological advances of the Net, I flooded his mail with chronic follow-ups. In three days, he finally came crawling to me with bloodshot eyes reduced to an alarming cataleptic condition. “STOP! I BEG YOU!” he pleaded.

My iron heart was moved. I offered compassion like a kind jailer does to an inmate who has an impending death sentence on his head. He confessed his problem: artist’s block. So I sat with him and together we came up with a stunning rough draft. It was so abstract that one of our classmates remarked it looked like an uncircumcised dick.

Some people just don’t know art.

Revised Things to Do:

  • Poster
  • T-shirts
  • Souvenir program (get list of sponsors from marketing manager)
  • Streamer (get list of sponsors from marketing manager)
  • Tickets

Three done, two more to go.

I rushed up to the fourth floor searching for her. Then I stopped to catch my breath. In walked the marketing manager, the person who is currently at the top of my most wanted list, looking so calm and collected.

She stared at me, puzzled. I must look like a hyperventilating dog with my tongue stuck all the way out to garner such a long stare.

She looked so damned relaxed! It was unfair! Didn’t she know I searched the entire building for her? Didn’t she know I practically emptied my sweat glands for her and my liquids now flow down the school stairs in copious swirling rivulets?

“Do you have the list of sponsors I asked from you last night?” I managed to rasp out.

It took her a while to register the question. Then her features arranged themselves into — was I hallucinating? —- a blank sheepish look on her angelic face. “Oops, I forgot.”

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a volcano erupted.

I would like to strangle those who don’t meet my standards. I would like to chop their bodies into little bits, stew their innards in marinating juices and eat their hearts for dinner.

If only cannibalism was legal.

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