i told one of my compañeros in my clase de español that the definition of a good fin de semana is when mañana de domingo does not exist.
that would probably mean that i had a horrible fin de semana. i had one of those fin de semanas that i really could not wait to get over with. a zillion things stood impatiently for my uninterested attention. everything, i tell you, every single imaginable weekend consuming thing that could possible have innocently presented itself, had to make a sorpresa appearence.
if not for the akurians on noche de sábado, i would have gone completely loco. it is strange how much pent up frustration can be relieved on just a bit of vandalismo.
you see, there was that project that i somehow stupidly dug myself into. like one of those mysteriously addictive indonesian soap plots, i was lured by beautiful deception, overwhelmed in a web of confusion, and then suddenly everyone wanted a piece of me.
i told J, you know what the ultimate writer’s revenge is? shoving it where the sun don’t shine in my final draft. i mean, exposes and dirty laundry are a writer’s lottery ticket to instant fame, man. and honestly, you can always, always do with more fame.
damn my highly ethical and morally upright upbringing.
i spent the noche de lunes cleaning up the mess. setting everything in place. making everyone look good. latching the graveyard gate. hiding the shovel. and praying that the editor would not go nuclear and scream at me when she receives my story.
so excuse me if i experience an abnormal overflow of sarcástico over the next few days. gané la derecha de ser irritado.