The week so far has been a heady mix of close calls, hits and misses.
A good friend and I worked aklsjdklasf hard on a project but got sidetracked by a frustratingly basic oversight: something that should have happened, didn’t happen. But because something that could have happened didn’t happen, we pulled through even if we were thisclose to falling off the tightrope. We had a post-mortem over bites of mamon (which I sneakily consumed since we were in the library), and surmised that while we could have fared better, we’re at least thankful that the problem didn’t take a 360-degree turn for the worst (superlative intended).
Haggard Fresh from a semi-allnighter with Communication Research 101 group mates (also my org mates, so yay to clingy productivity), I set out to finalize my take-home exam for Film 176. The latter class under former CMC dean Nicanor Tiongson was easily one of my two most enjoyable classes this sem, because it engaged my passion for film and broadened my appreciation of performing and visual arts.
I keyed in Ctrl+S for the last time at around 4 p.m. and embarked on a mad dash for school right after, fearful of the first wave of post-workday urban traffic. But as it turns out, what I should have been more fearful of was the column next to my parking space, and my as-of-then-undiscovered propensity to have a blind spot for columns when driven by fear of missing a deadline. Ditto for the tendency to inch way too close to one side when descending from spiral parking ramps. Goodbye, untarnished car doors! And goodbye, possession of a Jason Mraz concert ticket — it was nice thinking I was actually on my way to you, instead of a nearby auto repair shop.
Thankfully, I made it to the deadline — but that minor collision with the column was only a foreshadowing. On the way home from a clinginner at Lutong Bahay, a friend and I braved the Quezon Avenue traffic. The COT was a road accident involving a sedan and a bus full of passengers. We tsk-tsked at the sight and sloughed it out through the U-turn leading to southbound Edsa.
No less than one tambling away from the Quezon Avenue MRT station — where my friend was set to alight — a taxi beside me made a sharp left turn and in so doing, commenced the third traffic jam within that same hour in Q Ave. The taxi got scratched at the rear and there’s now a gaping dimple where my fender’s smooth surface used to be.
So this wasn’t a great day. But while I’m grateful that the only harm done so far was to my pocket, property and pride (I overheard a jeepney passenger remark, “Ay, babae kasi nag-dadrive” when he saw me negotiating with the taxi driver), I hope it’s not too much of a stretch to wish for nothing else untoward to happen from here on.