I'm not a fresh 19-year-old anymore. Yesterday (Sunday) I went to Moonleaf. I've only been there once or twice before, so on a whim, I settled on a peppermint milk tea in the only size they have (which is huge).
In other milk tea shops, I would order only 25 or 50 percent sugar. This was a hundred percent. I sat down on one of Moonleaf's low benches, put my feet up and read some stories on my phone while sipping. Thirty minutes in, and I haven't even worked through a fourth of the liquid in my plastic cup.
I thought something salty would help me finish my milk tea, so I found a place to order a 5 o'clock dinner. By the time I had eaten as much as I could of my chicken (and some fried rice, which was oily, as fried rice always is) the plastic cup was three-fourths of the way empty. It was only six pm then. I went home, threw the rest of the tea away, and did not eat anything else until the next morning, i.e. today.
I woke up dry-heaving and dizzy. I spent the better part of the morning this way, heaving but having nothing to show for it, so I decided to just go on sick leave. I know how incredibly lame "sugar overload" looks on a sick leave form---only toddlers and probably midgets get that, for God's sake. I put in "dizziness" instead, which is no less lame, come to think of it, and slept off my sugar hangover until it was too late to even go on halfday to work.
Bedridden from sugar. When just last May, I was chugging two liters of Gatorade a day and it didn't faze me at all. I quit my Gatorade habit when June rolled in, and only less than a month later, here I am, getting stuck in bed for pigging out.
And how did I spend what was left of today? Oh with nothing much: just folded my clothes, picked up my laundry, then went to Globe to get my postpaid plan downsized because I find it wasteful. Maybe next week, I'll find a tai chi class in a park, get healthier. Then I'll get fitted for dentures and find a lawyer to finalize my will.
Coincidentally, my pet (and spirit animal) Letty, must be feeling the onset of undue age, too. Letty has this habit of climbing into my mother's bed when she isn't there, and gets all whiny when we take him off it. Now that bed is really luxurious, and really important to my mother. Our whole family can fit comfortably into that bed, and it's fitted with this huge orthopedic mattress that's so heavy, you can drop it on someone you want dead. When I see my mother sleeping in the living room, I suspect that she has sinned, maybe gossipped at the office or something, and doesn't want to lie on the mattress until she has confessed to a priest.
And today, Letty got into that bed, and pissed in it.
This is so unlike Letty. There was a time when he almost came into the house with a rat. We all yelled our disgust and refused to let him in, and he seemed to understand, because for the next few days he kept strictly to the floor, a deviation from his habits. And during typhoon Yolanda, when it was pitch dark and really really windy and stormy outside, he still begged to be let out to do his thing. And at two years old, he's no candidate for bladder failure. Besides, cats won't piss in the same place they like to sleep in. What's going on?
I tell my sister that Letty is probably angry at something and is letting us know about it. My sister says Letty just has an attitude problem, and wants the big-ass bed all to himself. My mother is just---
Reportedly, Letty has been banished to the box of shame, an empty, rectangular laundry basket that was lying around the house. I don't know if he feels punished though. Cats love boxes.
In other milk tea shops, I would order only 25 or 50 percent sugar. This was a hundred percent. I sat down on one of Moonleaf's low benches, put my feet up and read some stories on my phone while sipping. Thirty minutes in, and I haven't even worked through a fourth of the liquid in my plastic cup.
I thought something salty would help me finish my milk tea, so I found a place to order a 5 o'clock dinner. By the time I had eaten as much as I could of my chicken (and some fried rice, which was oily, as fried rice always is) the plastic cup was three-fourths of the way empty. It was only six pm then. I went home, threw the rest of the tea away, and did not eat anything else until the next morning, i.e. today.
I woke up dry-heaving and dizzy. I spent the better part of the morning this way, heaving but having nothing to show for it, so I decided to just go on sick leave. I know how incredibly lame "sugar overload" looks on a sick leave form---only toddlers and probably midgets get that, for God's sake. I put in "dizziness" instead, which is no less lame, come to think of it, and slept off my sugar hangover until it was too late to even go on halfday to work.
Bedridden from sugar. When just last May, I was chugging two liters of Gatorade a day and it didn't faze me at all. I quit my Gatorade habit when June rolled in, and only less than a month later, here I am, getting stuck in bed for pigging out.
And how did I spend what was left of today? Oh with nothing much: just folded my clothes, picked up my laundry, then went to Globe to get my postpaid plan downsized because I find it wasteful. Maybe next week, I'll find a tai chi class in a park, get healthier. Then I'll get fitted for dentures and find a lawyer to finalize my will.
Coincidentally, my pet (and spirit animal) Letty, must be feeling the onset of undue age, too. Letty has this habit of climbing into my mother's bed when she isn't there, and gets all whiny when we take him off it. Now that bed is really luxurious, and really important to my mother. Our whole family can fit comfortably into that bed, and it's fitted with this huge orthopedic mattress that's so heavy, you can drop it on someone you want dead. When I see my mother sleeping in the living room, I suspect that she has sinned, maybe gossipped at the office or something, and doesn't want to lie on the mattress until she has confessed to a priest.
And today, Letty got into that bed, and pissed in it.
This is so unlike Letty. There was a time when he almost came into the house with a rat. We all yelled our disgust and refused to let him in, and he seemed to understand, because for the next few days he kept strictly to the floor, a deviation from his habits. And during typhoon Yolanda, when it was pitch dark and really really windy and stormy outside, he still begged to be let out to do his thing. And at two years old, he's no candidate for bladder failure. Besides, cats won't piss in the same place they like to sleep in. What's going on?
I tell my sister that Letty is probably angry at something and is letting us know about it. My sister says Letty just has an attitude problem, and wants the big-ass bed all to himself. My mother is just---
Reportedly, Letty has been banished to the box of shame, an empty, rectangular laundry basket that was lying around the house. I don't know if he feels punished though. Cats love boxes.
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