I am THROUGH with comics. Really. I mean it. I don't have the time nowadays, nor the energy. I cannot compete with the big-to-intermediate guys. Thanks to some really bonehead decisions, I no longer have a comics support system. And I will always be treated as a has-been fanboy JAFO-- Just Another F_ing Observer. All I have is my pride, which I am eating in spades, along with my bingo cards and my inventory reports.
So lap it up, jerks. You've won.
My Doggie Is Dead. I mean that too. I was crying like a girl because whatever infection Piolo got from scrounging around the trash bins of the Quezon Institute (for tubercular patients) had reached his brain. He looked like sh!t when I saw him at the vet's. He did recognize me and my brother; even put up a brave front for us. But he did succumb to the convulsions just as we were leaving. I will miss my Piolo Askal.
I'm 30. As of yesterday. The knowledge filled me with such good feelings that I went on an aborted sms spree wishing everyone I could reach a good day. Aborted because my cel battery had run out of juice. And I was in Batangas without a charger. Still, I'm 30. And I'm moving out of my house: slowly, but it's happening. Sometimes, tiffs with Mother of Ian-like proportions help clear the mind and set priorities. To my younger friends, here's a secret-- 30 is nothing special, but it's as good enough a birthday to really celebrate and cherish. Have a good day!