Couple of minutes before midnight on a Friday. Just got home. Writing this as I wait for the coffee to cool down. Ditto my mood.
Turned 38 yesterday. There was no party. No drunk girls dancing to loud music blaring from the speakers. All the debauchery happened in my head, and the only food involved were the ones ordered for the “feeding program” that me and two other January celebrants sponsored at the office the previous day. Pancit (for long life), lumpiang shanghai, cake, pork barbecue. Soft drinks, but no beer.
On my 38th name day I woke up, had breakfast, took a dump, showered, got dressed, went to work, did what I’m paid to do for nine hours, said thank you to well wishers online and in person, punched out, went home, brooded, slept. In short, it was not unlike any other ordinary work day.
Today, I punched out early at work to meet the wifey in Makati. But she came a bit sloshed from drinking with an office-mate and at one point was even kind of belligerent. Would’ve loved to walk around Glorietta and Greenbelt and savor the night until our feet ached, but that’d be no fun in her condition. Instead we dined at Yoshinoya and went home.
Happy birthday to me.