Existential Feline Conceptions

My cat is pregnant again. Unlike me, she has had more melodrama in her life than I have had in the past two decades. She's only two years old but she has had three boyfriends, four kittens and two grandkittens.

I can't say she's lucky; but i wonder, what does she think of everything that has happened to her? It's not like she had a choice in all of this. If she had, I would imagine her saying to remain single sans babies all throughout her life, publish best-sellers, have little adventures across asia and europe, and build her little, white beach house in Cebu. Ms. Bagonsoy, the little jetsetter. Did I mention she's little?

These days, I find myself day dreaming more often. My head gets spiritted away to what ifs, illusions of Diego Luna whisking me away to some lovely soiree in Tuscany, and consumed by the sound of a four-thousand strong crowd, chanting quintessential Coldplay lyrics.

It's becoming a terrible habit, really. It's promoting unhealthy delusions. Then again, I have always been ansty about the future.

Seeing red

Today was filled with red lights; and I think that's just the start of it. The next couple of days will have plenty of turbulence. I need a miracle.

I dont want to be a law school dropout!

My heart suddenly feels ten pounds heavier.

Oh well, on to some lighter news. I have my tickets to the Harry Potter premiere on November 16. I have goosebumps just thinking about it. However, the more exciting news happened later this afternoon. I rode on the bus with Mark today. God, I felt like such a dork. I managed to whip out a few syllables, but that was just it, really. I pretended to be asleep for the rest of the ride. I know, I know, chicken right? At these times, being a wallflower isn't a very profitable career.

Those coppers

Watching the news these days is as potent as listening to Sam and Say's song number on repeat --- not enough to kill you, but enough to drive you mad. These days, it seems that a minor lobotomy would be an urgent item on everyone's to-do list.

Gloria's private army/cheering team are at it again. These cops must be feasting on a daily diet of helium and steroids. Everything they manage to pull out their hats are all bull, all gas. But you've got to hand it for these guys. Their tenacity on subverting the constitution is equally impressive as their, uh, skills. Case in point: their apprehension yesterday of a highly disturbed individual armed with a blunt kitchen knife. Four armed coppers beat the living day lights of the unidentified man, complete with chair-whacking and moves that would put a muai tai boxer to shame. This, after they shot his leg. You have got to admire their attention to detail. Gloria must be proud.

I don't know what's worse, Orange and Lemon's The Chandeliers-rip off or Gloria's CPR.

I Need Space

Bloc Party's Two more years has permanently resided in my head like a broken record; and with all the other highly addictive Coldplay and The Killers anthems, it's officially a very cramped space.

Now I'm suddenly having an anxiety attack. How am I going to squeeze the last few rules of Civil Procedure and the entire selection on Civil Law into a space as large as Sirius Black's Azkaban loft? I wish my brain had an upgrade.