Sunday couch jumping

It’s Sunday, and I’m officially free to go home. But instead, I found myself sleeping on three different couches, one of them possibly previously owned by Ms. Regine Velasquez. Possibly.ย And it just made me realize how I am not really home most of the time, and how inconsiderate I am as a daughter. The thing is, I really have no right to complain every time my mom asks me to go home already. Because, even if I don’t, nothing really happens to me– no allowance withheld, no clothes thrown out of the balcony, no burned books on the lawn. It just makes her sad that I am not beside her when she goes to sleep. She keeps telling me that she gets these nightmares every time I don’t sleep beside her, but that could just as might well be a ploy to make me go home and be the hero. As much as I would like to comfort her, I don’t feel compelled to go home right now.

I feel right at home where I am now, so why bother? I hope you’re safe and comfy at home, my friend. ๐Ÿ™‚

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It’s an office couch weekend

It’s a press work weekend and I had to sleep at various places in the office– on mattresses on the floor, on a double deck bed, in the bathroom, or wherever it is I happen to fall asleep in. And yes, I had to sleep in the office couch, which looks oddly enough like a casting couch. For those in the know, I don’t have to explain anymore what that is.

I haven’t finished my draft yet, and it really looks like I’m attempting to write the biography of a certain sociology professor with the length I’m at now. I guess I’d just have to kill my babies on my second draft. But before that, I really want to take a bath.

How’s your weekend coming along, my friend? ๐Ÿ™‚