This is getting too old

It's another one of those insignificant evenings, the best opportunity to stretch my fingers and type away a post. My mind is drawing blank, the perfect canvass, as I examine my brandy, sacrilegiously iced in a whiskey glass in part due to the humidity. I initially wanted whiskey, but I ran out so I had to settle for Jerez, must remember to get a fresh bottle of scotch later in the evening.

As expected, nothing's changed. The birthday weekend came and went by without any epiphanies nor great sense of maturity. Not even the brandy tastes differently, the Marlboros still stink, and coffee remains bitterly earthy. I guess only an idiot would take meaning from gaining another year.

But the weekend sure was fun all throughout, the only real disappointment coming from the lack of a bag of chocolates which I specifically asked from an ex-girlfriend of mine. I daresay this extended weekend was the most gratifying that I've had in a long while now.

*****

No thanks to Ernest Hemingway, I woke up from a thrilling bullfight dream sequence. There I was, watching how the bull gorged a dozen or so clowns who were running around. Weird thing that there was no bullfighter, I thought. There were just these clowns wearing red, all of them oddly looking like Ronald McDonald. I opened my eyes, waking up to this longing for a double cheeseburger.

*****

I'm being pressured by everyone to get a passport. Me, I can't fathom why the urgency. So far, I haven't any opportunity (nor desire) to go out of the country yet. And besides, having been rejected the first time, forgive me for being a bit bitter about getting one.

For some reason, I find no motivation to hop a plane bound beyond the confines of the P.I.'s area of responsibility. While everyone else seems giddy about the prospect of jetting around the region or to some other continent, I find it a real chore. Having to get a passport, lining up at the airport for them to verify documents and such, it's one of the things that I don't like bothering with. Checking in baggage is all the hassle that I'm willing to take boarding an aircraft. Getting in line for an entirely different purpose seems too much time wasted.

But then again, a friend of mine is going to Hong Kong to study and has extended an advance invitation for the gang to spend the holidays there. I'm seriously thinking of going if finances allow me to do so, so I may finally be lining up at Foreign Affairs one of these days. The more I think about it, though, the more I find myself dragging my feet. What's wrong with me?

*****

My drink is gone, I've puffed the last out of my cigarette and the urge to go to bed is increasing. I scroll up and see I've dished out another post that is probably not worth publishing. If you made it this far, you should seriously consider getting a life. I know I am.