blah blah

I went to the doctor's for a checkup yesterday but was summoned by a client while I waited for my turn. It's always a juggling act with me and what needs to be done, but it wasn't that big a deal since the reason I was at the hospital was not life-threatening. Or so I think. But then again, this little spot on the back of head has, in the span of time I've lived with it, become everything from skin allegy to skin cancer and everything I could imagine (Self-diagonsis is not healthy. Once, when I was young, when my throat hurt I tearfully told my mother not to be sad when I died by throat cancer). I abhor being in hospitals. It triggers my imaginary panthophobia which only throws fuel into the fire of my natural impatience. Or it evokes a deep sense of melancholy (the same way I feel when confronted with M.C. Escher "Italian Period" woodprints) which I can't help when faced with the undeniable evidence of senescence and helplessness.

At the office, I deal with the new crisis, and am struck by the utterly eristic and specious arguments that I am subjected to. One of the things I cannot stand is the tendency of some people to comport themselves like imbeciles when the chips are down, fleeing from accountability when it looks like they will be burned by consequences. If it's your mistake, deal with it.

And just like dominoes, the rest of the day goes into a death spiral, ending with the jaw-dropping news from photographer of one of my shoots that a day's worth of pictures are simply corrupted, gone, unviewable, ruined, impossible to see or manipulate. Which means a reshoot. With a subject who is not from Manila. Gah.

I ask my barber if his schedule permits my intrusion (I want him to shave my head - my feeble symbolic action against the vicissitudes of fate) but it doesn't happen. Everyone has made appointments prior to the out-of-town demands of Holy Week.

But once home, all is well (well, after I made all the final late night phone calls required by my work). I am mauled by Sage in a pillow fight, ogled by my wife, and rejuvenated by the music of Kieran Goss, Jack Johnson, Ahmad Jamal, Bobby McFerrin and Étienne Mbappé.

So it all balances out.