wish i knew then . . .

life realizations that came a bit too late:

1. after 5 years of working as a medical writer/editor, i have just recently discovered (now that i have resigned from my old company) that you can use the 'find and replace' function of microsoft word to change all double spaces to single spaces (useful when editing articles from writers who do not subscribe to the single-space-after-fullstop convention).

i could kick myself for not trying this way back when i was neck-deep in impossible deadlines, when any timesaver would've been most welcome. (between you and me, i can't really kick myself. but i can accidentally whack my shins with a badminton racket.)

2. following the same vein, i was recently introduced to a new friend i will lovingly add to my current solid clique of best friends (composed of google, m-w.com, cable tv and a favorite pillow). i stumbled upon www.allwords.com, which turned out to be a more comprehensive site for idioms (or idiots -- your choice) than this other site i used to rely on. also, without allwords.com, i never would have known that 'ader' is the dutch word for 'vein.'

it's definitely an extremely useful tool for insecure editors like . . . some people i know (need to protect my reputation. clients could be reading this! trust no one! they're out to get us! run! hide!!!)

(note to self: it's definitely time for a new hobby.)

bad emotional investments

another problem with this whole new freelancing lifestyle is the freedom to watch the live satellite feed of american idol at 4 pm. my work habits are shot.

i should stop writing this entry NOW. really.

because if i start to go on about how i have reserved a part of my heart for anwar, constantine, mario vasKWEZ (why do they say it that way?), afrogirl, farmgirl, (kindly ignore the fact that i don't know the girls' names) etc, etc, . . . or if i reveal how much i wanted to cry after anwar sang his version of moon river . . . or if i discuss how i'm starting to yearn for simon's approval of my life . . . or if expose my internal debate on whether i should finally admit that i think ryan seacrest is hot . . . i'm afraid i'd have no self-respect left by the end of this entry.

i figure i'll end up using the column (aka current life stressor) to totally trample on my dignity anyway so i should save demoralizing stories for future use.

the willing sacrificial lamb

over dinner --


older sister: topi, bakit walang lasa yung manok?

topi: ah tinatanggal ko na talaga yung balat kasi nandyan lahat ng cholesterol.

older sister: ok ah! so nasan na yung balat?

topi: kinain ko.

a picture montage is worth a thousand words, or at least eight ("It's not going to be a medical column.") 

parent update: they're getting the drift

this afternoon, i printed a photo-quality copy of my column pic options (thanks LLB) and put it on the chair near the pc.

my parents entered the room and spotted the montage (which i will post in a bit).

dad: what's this for?

me: for the column.

dad: why does it look this way?

me: because . . .

dad: it's not serious!

me: well, . . .

dad: your column is not going to be serious?

ma: your column is not going to be serious?

me: mmm . . .

dad: (crossing out "buy copies of manila bulletin with eng's column" in his mental to-do list) ahhhh

ma: (thinking "does this mean she's never going to practice?") ahhhh

i think they got it now. where's the champagne?!

my parents in serious denial

one thing that i should probably have clarified with my parents when i told them i was going to have a column in an actual publication is that it wasn't going to be a medical column.

how does one explain that one's column will be about . . . nothing?

just yesterday, at the dinner table, my mother asked me, "so is your column going to be limited to health articles?"

"mmmhhh. it's not a health column, ma."

"what? so what will it be about?" my mother asked, with trepidation in her voice.

"it's just supposed to be funny," i whispered while scrambling away from the person who, 31 years ago, had to carry me in her womb for 9 months.

maybe i should use a pseudonym.

the depths of distraction

i'm sure i am not the first person to discover this truth:

you are most productive while procrastinating your more important, more pressing work.

i've blogged about this twice (but can't find the other entry, which explains the single link) but still couldn't help documenting my most recent fits of productivity while trying to finish a blasted (read: boring) article.

just last week, i stopped in the middle of typing a ridiculously dull sentence and proceeded to:

- put away the christmas gifts that were haphazardly stashed in a corner of my room (luckily, did not find fruitcake or live pets in the pile);

- remove the contents of the luggage i used a month ago, and discovered a dirty t-shirt stuffed into one of the secret compartments of my state-of-the-art bag;

- explore all my old shoeboxes, confirming that i really do have way too many pairs of black shoes and one too many (two) pairs of formal gold shoes (note to self: do not throw out gold shoes before deciding if you want to be that kind of person); and

- use 'pledge' on every available surface in the room, hoping against hope that having a dust-free, shiny room would inspire me to focus more on writing than on an instant room makeover.

maybe ms. younger sister is right. i should get a life. preferably one that does not involve emotional attachment to fictional tv characters or an inexplicable attraction to reality shows.