Wala Lang

I wake up at 8, buzzed by an alarm clock;wistfully I procrastinate, hoping to put time off, but it can not be stopped. My mind wrestles with each minute, until I realize I have no power over it, and the longer I stay in bed, the faster I have to rush. My goal as of late is no longer to rush, to prevent unnecessary stress. So I finally pull myself up by 8:30 or 9, shower, dress up, retouch my face (uneven skin tone, alas, genetics is not on my side), rouge it up with warm brown tones and add a dash of Burt's Bees mint lip balm. I am done in 30 minutes, and a drive to the office takes 15 minutes, tops. Once I get there I'm swept away, eaten by time, engulfed by a tornado in a frenetic swoosh, rushing off from one meeting to the next, leaving nothing on my desk but a mere sign of temporary inhabitance. Other days it's a razzle dazzle day, where I actually get to use my magical right brain, and say what I want to say. My left brain, the cerebral part, is dragged along, the algorithms and permutations buried underneath the grey matter, the 5 years of engineering subjects, the experience gained from countless oral mathematical exercises swept under the rug, like my operations research textbook, lost in transit. Even for simple additions I now find myself using the calculator, refusing to trigger my brain-I actually wrack it just for the tasks I want, I now realize.