This is about something. I just wish I knew what that something was.

People from a poetry group I belonged to asked me if I still write. This was when I decided to show myself after two years of absence. I told them I don't; I can't write poems when I'm happy. I only when I'm sad or angry.

It's a lie, of course. It's a good lie. Poetry was my way of verbalizing my sadness through pretty words and clever imagery. I can't write about sadness if I don't know why is it exactly I'm angry or what it is exactly I'm sad about.

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Automatic gestures could mean something. An action so natural it doesn't require any forethought. A choice selected so often it's become a habit.

Or it could mean nothing. Just a mindless action with no inherent significance. Fallen leaves land where they do because the place where they fall on is immediately under the branch. There is nothing more to that.

There is nothing more to that.

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In a tall glass (preferably a highball) filled with ice, mix two parts gin or tequila, one part Sprite and strawberry-flavored yoghurt drink. Cupkeyk calls it pink magnum. It tastes great (yoghurt effectively masks the taste of gin for me) and is not surprisingly strong (that's nearly half a glass of gin per serving, after all).

Surprisingly though, nearly two glasses of that plus an earlier bottle of lager had not made me too drunk, like the same amount of alcohol normally would. Maybe it's the yoghurt.

I left QC without a heavy drunken head. The bus ride to Makati passed without incident. The last time I commuted from QC to Makati after drinking at Cupkeyk's, I threw up in the bus (good thing I had the foresight to bring a plastic bag). And that was me being passed out for a few hours before heading to Makati. This morning, I commuted an hour after we've finished drinking.

I've felt close to sober since early this morning. I've felt wide awake, too. I've slept only two hours before waking up again. I feel like various types of excrement, true, but that's for lack of sleep, not because of leftover spirits.

Lack of spirits notwithstanding, I feel haunted. I try but I still can't sleep.