A Seamless Series of Niceties

Maybe I haven’t noticed my details closely enough, content as I am with its totalizing happiness. It’s been too totalizing that I had to doubt it, that it actually suppressed the little events of my life.
I haven’t noticed how I yearned to feel how I feel now. I just finished another attempt to understand Jacques Lacan, while listening to chillout, drinking cheap coffee and smelling the scented oils whose vapors are rising to the ceiling, or finding its way to the corners of my newly-cleaned, dust-free, accessorized and tastefully furnished room (at least from my perspective). The bells, synthesizers, drum and bass of the music’s ambient mood is a terrific anthem. I’m studying in La Salle again and I have access to the library and its wealth of books.
Rummaging the pockets of my bag for a notebook, I found a used pair of socks in a plastic bag. I remembered how, on the way to Z.’s 1st birthday party in Brick Road Sta. Lucia, my socks got wet as I braved the rain walking to the venue. I told this to D. and while we shopped around Gateway, she bought me a new pair. We went to her place after and had more Don Hen spaghetti and chicken.
I haven’t noticed how in the time between a job interview and a test, I was able to sit down to a chicken sandwich and three glasses of apple juice while reading Arthur Nersesian’s The Fuck-Up. It’s been one of the most amusing reads of the year. Maybe it’s something I half-expect to literally relate to. I realized how it was noon, and if not for this vacation I would’ve been rotting in the office. Instead, I am in a restaurant, eating and listening to Kruder and Dorfmeister with a view of Ortigas in the window. D. has downloaded a lot of Music for me, from Aimee Mann’s Bachelor no. 2 to Jim Morrison’s An American Prayer, to the 1999 K&D sessions, to the Yoshida Brothers.
One thing I noticed just leads to the other. Although I have never failed to stress this to myself, I have a perfect girlfriend who understands, shares, and appreciates my tastes, fulfills my desires, listens to my incessant whining, drinks with me, travels with me, and savors life’s niceties with me, while I do the same to her.
I haven’t noticed how I bummed around guiltlessly and through my own means. I even managed to give a little money to my mom.
I haven’t noticed how D. and I can have lunch dates now, from the Pasto in Ortigas or at the Orient Square Food Court. I had the time to visit her during weekdays for dinner, a movie and a few drinks.
I haven’t really focused on the details of what I’ve learned in Philosophy class, as well as that learning drive I’m now riding on.
I haven’t fully absorbed how, if I had work, I probably would never have the time to attend film festivals. S.’s film was one of the entries for the first-ever Cinemalaya. After the opening ceremonies, we had dinner and drinks at Dencio’s at the Trellis. The weekend after that we had a hearty dinner at Emerald care of one of my officemates. I haven’t forgotten the crabs we had.
I almost didn’t write about how we’re always out with friends.
I even remember that time D. and I watched the PurpleChickens, Kapatid, and Hale at Saguijo.

It’s been a seamless series of niceties that I almost didn’t notice, if I didn’t look into the details.

It’s bumming. It's bumming at its best.