1. Wake up at 7:30 AM.
2. Go downstairs and make coffee.
3. Turn on some bad AM “news” shows.
4. Eat a bowl of cereal or some other light breakfast.  I get fancy with breakfast when I’m feeling especially procastinatorific.
5. Drink coffee while surfing the bad news shows and sprinkle in some pretty good news shows as well.
6. If I can afford the time, go for a short run. If not, turn on the laptop.
7. Check my personal email.
8. Log into my blog aggregator, see what they’re talking about.
9. Go back and forth between the emails and the blog posts that catch my eye while simultaneously clicking through the links that pique my interest.
10. Open up my Outlook (where my work emails live) to get that long process of logging in going in the background.
11. Sometimes I get stuck in MySpace for a minute and then quickly shame myself out of there.
12. When I’m feeling especially pensive and avoidant, open up WordPress and start in with the ranting about topics of no special import to anyone but myself.
13. When I’ve finally gone through all that, switch back to my Outlook with great great pain.  It’s like the dread you feel when you know you have snail mail or emails with bad news.  I’m filled with that dread each and every day.

Needless to say, I hate my job.  Ironically, I have a great boss that feels my pain and the work itself is not even that bad but I’m so completely repelled by the thought of actually doing the work that every day is an exercise in disgust.  

So I know I can exercise my free will at any point and just work overtime to get myself out of this muck by looking for a new job.  I work from home at this thing and I don’t do anywhere close to 40 hours so I have no excuse.  I’m doing such a crappy job at the 3 or 4 discrete tasks that I’ve been given that I have no idea why my boss continues to keep them assigned to me.  I can assume it’s out of no choice on his part. 

• PAPER PRODUCTS.  Can’t emphasize this one enough, esp. for those of you that are anal about all things bathroom related.  Most public restrooms* do not, I repeat, do NOT have toilet paper.  Paper towels for your hands or hand blowers are hard to come by as well so be prepared to wipe your hands on your outfit.
• Transformer.  If you have necessary appliances or other electronics, you’ll need a transformer.  They’re really heavy but I’m sure you can buy them over there as well.
• Flip flops.  Most of the locals wear flip flops EVERYWHERE.  If that’s acceptable to you, have at it.  Of course, there are tons of cheap flip flops there that you can buy as well.
• Your digital cam’s adapter or SD-reader.  You photo enthusiasts already know this but being able to download my photos every night was key in helping me chronicle my trip in a meaningful way.
• $100 bills.  SUPPOSEDLY, you will get a better exchange rate if you bring money in $100 denominations or higher.  We exchanged our money at corner exchange stands (as opposed to in the mall, e.g.) and seemed to get better rates. 

What not to bring to the Philippines:

• Loofahs and other bath implements.  Unless you’re really particular about what you use to scrub your body, there are plenty of dirt-cheap items in P.I. drug stores that you can purchase.  In fact, I bought a whole grip of loofahs from the Rustans (nationwide drugstore chain) for about $1 each because I liked them so much.
• Jackets.  For obvious reasons.  You can bring 1 or 2, more than that is wasted luggage space. 

What not to look for in the Philippines:

• Good food for cheap.  This may come as a shock to some of you career globetrotters, but the food in the P.I. (at least in Manila and Cebu) is yuck unless you shell out some duckets.  Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy a good BBQ stick from the corner shop just as much as the next guy but I’m talkin’ about the food you get from your average restaurant.  In my experience, the only really good food came from the higher end restaurants.  Fast food there is especially bad.  Max’s is an old stand-by that doesn’t usually disappoint.  If I recall correctly, you can expect to pay about $10 per person at Max’s.
• Dirt cheap brand names.  Many are under the impression that because a lot of brands (Banana Republic, Nike, etc.) state on their labels that the products were made in the P.I., clothes whores will hit the jackpot in the local palengke (palenque).  You can find everything from Lacoste to Adidas but you will basically pay the same prices as you do in the U.S.  What you will find is pretty good imitation brand name hand bags, if you’re into that kind of thing.  You can find fake-ass Louis Vuitton, Coach, Marc Jacobs, Diesel, etc. at the Green Hills mall.  There’s another place that’s well-known but I can’t remember the name of that one.
• Good customer service.  The tenderos and tenderas (salespeople) were complete jerks for the most part.  I’d come across the occasional good attitude but not so much.  There are plenty of “Good morning, ma’am”‘s (pronounced “mom”) but they’re usually followed by dead eyes and a sluggish pace.  I don’t look particularly Filipino and neither does my dad so when we were together we got somewhat better treatment.  In fact, we were never patted down or searched at mall entrances like all other locals are; however, when I was with more native-looking folks I generally got the snub.
• Quality coffee.  Maybe I just didn’t go to the right places but any coffee I had was average at best.

Other random things:

• Text messaging.  Texting is huge there, just like in much of Asia.  Folks generally purchase “loads” or prepaid quantities of texts.  Lots of folks, young and old, communicate via text.
• Internet Cafes.  You can spend lots of time online for mere pennies.  I saw ‘net cafes in even the most old-school looking towns.  Netopia was my fave.
• Mail order brides and child molesters.  Okay, that language may be a tad harsh in some cases but you do see plenty of older white dudes with younger (and in some cases, clearly teen-aged) chicks.  I saw a few of these guys with young boys (teens, usually) as well.  Blech, but who am I to judge?
• Speaking English.  Contrary to what lots of people in my experience like to say, many Filipinos are not comfortable speaking English.  I don’t know, maybe the locals were just not really feelin’ me because I’m (a Filipino-)American and so decided they didn’t really want to deal with my non-Tagalog ways but my dad got a fair share of the treatment in Cebu because he didn’t speak Cebuano.  Again, this may not be true for non-Filipino (read: white) tourists but this is what I experienced.  Sure, if pressed, the locals will generally do their best to humor you but I found that it was somewhat difficult to find folks who were happy to speak English. 
• Losing weight.  We stayed in the homes of friends and distant relatives so we were always being fed.  We had to eat meals and snacks about every 2 hours.  That being said, as a guest, I wasn’t going to gorge myself so I usually ate sort of little at each meal.  Sugar-free drinks aren’t big there (although Coke Lite is gaining popularity) so I drank mostly water.  For some reason, I drank water to pass the time as well.  Time passed slooowly for me there.  All this to say that I must’ve sped up my metabolism and done some sort of thing that my body was liking because I ended up losing about 12 lbs. in 3 weeks even though I ate a lot more white rice than I normally do. 

*  A word about restrooms in general in the P.I.– many of them are not half bad, esp. when you go to some of the larger, franchise-type establishments.  Where you really luck out are in the “paid” facilities where there is a nominal fee to get in.  In these, they typically make it a point to keep the place spotless and offer up paper products (hence the fee).  I tried to stay away altogether from the restrooms in the hole-in-the-wall joints, but I do that in the States as well.

I’m mildly depressed right now and am trying not to succumb to that fucked up place in the larger “survival of the fittest” scheme, although lately I’ve been suspecting that cancer or something like that is in my future.  Something to explain why I’ve made no lasting connections with the potential for procreation.  Probably just cognitive dissonance at work again.

Here’s where that part gets interesting.  I quit my job recently to figure it all out.  Well, maybe not all, but at least my slice.  It will be a great challenge to keep my head up when I’m painfully lonely and have no job.

How do I know that I’m mildly depressed?  The only people that I find interesting lately are either fictional (characters in movies, e.g.) or are famous (artists, entrepreneurs, leaders in business).  I regularly burst out in tears.  I am unable to find mental quiet.  My attention span is non-existent.

What I’m doing to overcome this state– attempts to exercise or stay active, going out with friends when the activities seem appealing, searching for a job that I can honestly say I’m interested in, keeping the dream alive of one day having the courage to start a business (i.e., confronting all of the risks associated with that start-up).

I wish that my universe was about more than marital status and career (and to a lesser degree, body image).  I’ve sent out a cry for help with my soul-searching.  A guide, a kit, a template, a roadmap would be nice.

I don’t always pick up my phone and it’s not always located within earshot.  I wish people would get over it.

My dream?  Full creative license + changing the world.

I agonize over a new cover letter and in the process read over my old ones hoping to just throw a few tweaks in, rename it, submit it.  It never works that way but instead I realize how awful and uninspiring all of those old cover letters were.  (As a former HR person, I should know that loads of managers don’t even f*king read the cover letter.  At least not enough to merit agonizing over every word.)  I also have the nagging suspicion that all this talk of “cover letters” and other ridiculously hopeless ways of snagging a dream job are so far off the path of how savvsters actually score jobs that I am completely misprioritizng my time and am dooming myself to be one of the legions of losers who waste time doggy paddling in their careers instead of being one of the Marthas, Oprahs, Scott Adamses who actually are deeply interested in what they do and are enjoying a place on the catapult to ultimate success.

Why does the concept of “success” elude me so?

By all appearances, I’m marginally succesful.  I went to a top-flight school and have managed to accomplish a decent amount in my 9 years of work experience.  But now, now that I have made the leap to quit my all-consuming job, I feel a great great deal of pressure (that I’ve put on myself) to succeed. 

By my own definition, success is either (a) financial prowess (b) notoriety or fame or renown (c) a doctoral-level degree [I've amended this in my psyche to include a master's-level degree from a Top 5 university].  If I don’t have one or more of those AND I don’t marry (and have kids) then it’s over!

Pretty superficial, huh.  Whatever.

I’m not living life.

Can’t believe how he did this to me again (how I let him).  How does someone make all these intricate plans to come and then not even bother communicating otherwise?  What is his purpose?  It’s so completely sad what I let myself go through.

Can’t  even talk to anyone about what is happening with him because it’s so ridiculous.  Because I shouldn’t even be letting him ENTER my mind let alone considering him a factor in my life.

Writing in here makes me feel worse.

I have to ask myself, do I want to continue down this path of searching for jobs across countless search engines online looking at jobs that I have realistically ZERO interest in or do I want to take some huge risks and put myself out there and start some bajillion-to-one enterprise?

I need a template.  Or a workplan.  Or a kit.

To have found your soul, does it mean you have (1) identified and (2) found what will make you happy?  And is happiness synonymous with fulfillment?

F. broke the news to me this afternoon that K. is engaged to his live-in girlfriend.  Not that surprised but didn’t think it was coming so soon.  Was sad all afternoon.

All these relationships I’ve been in– useless.  It’s not like I look around and see relationships that I envy, per se.  They’re all either loveless, bitter, bored senseless, or covered in the “we settled for each other” cloud.  I just want a good relationship for myself.  Have a deep deep sense of longing right now.  Not sure what’s going to become of it.

He refuses to meet my needs.  I want him to come here so badly.  I’m desperate for him to come here.  Him living across the country and me thinking it could work is a stupid fucking fantasy.  I feel like my life has some key dimensions that are missing, or stunted.  Love my family, that part is healthy.  My imagination is alive, could be more vibrant, but it churns when it wants to churn… so that part is healthy.  The part that should be relating to a man, benefiting from a man– that part is a phantom limb.  The part that should be nurturing a family– another phantom limb.  The part that should be making a gripload of money off my natural talents– phantom effing limb.