Not as cold today. Let me tell ya, the last few days, it’s been so cold in the San Francisco Bay Area that everyone self sees has been wearing Ugg boots and down parkas, and self’s bathroom is at the moment chock-full of potted bougainvilleas and geraniums that she’s had to drag in from the garden.

This morning, when self went outside with the li’l crits, almost the first thing that happened was she fell over. What the hell — ? That was when she looked down and discovered that the whole deck was covered with ice.

This evening, self spoke to Dearest Mum. It’s really funny: Dearest Mum is the one with the Magic Jack, but she never calls.

Never mind. Self has decided that this will be the season of “mellow.” Everything in her life should be mellow (or she will explode). So, these are the things self learned while speaking to Dearest Mum today:

Dearest Mum gave all her friends a copy of self’s book, The Lost Language, published in September by Anvil, for Christmas. This is like, oh-so-jaw-dropping that self was quite, quite speechless for a couple of seconds. When she found her voice again, she ventured to say that her book is not exactly the kind of thing her Tita xxxx or Tito xxxx would like to read, as the first story is about a severed hand (Hands seem to be quite a theme with self, as she has another story called “The Hand” which is about a wandering, disembodied hand), and two are about women who have affairs with their college professors, and a number are about horrific car accidents (Self’s next collection, she promises, will be about her hatred of traffic light cameras).

And self distinctly remembers that the conversation that precipated her decision not to go home involved Dearest Mum saying that reading her stories made Dearest Bro quite ill.

But then this same Dearest Bro drove Dearest Mum to the Anvil Book Festival in Glorietta 3, a few weeks ago.

Go figure!

Yesterday, speaking to cuz in Virginia, cuz said: “You are so crazy. Why did you refund your ticket to Manila?”

And self had to say that she actually wasn’t able to get a refund for that ticket. Which makes it even crazier.

“Couldn’t you use it now, just say you want to go home next week?”

Ah, no. The reservation is gone. She made it in August, to get the lowest possible fare. It is gone.

Hence, self’s crazed watching of movies (as if to bury the thoughts of home, and what people are doing there).

Sometimes, she even writes. Like today.

She lines up at the Post Office. Endures long waits and surly clerks. Tries to stop herself from buying a tree (for who knows how much longer hubby’s start-up will stay afloat?). Rakes leaves in a frenzy. Obssesses over whether she should learn to give herself a haircut. Runs red lights (signal light traffic cam, hello!) and curses for hours afterwards. Today she even called the Redwood City court to find out if the exact location of all traffic cameras in Redwood City was publicly posted. She got her answer: At present, there are only two. But, clerk intoned ominously, there will be more.

And will that information be announced somewhere? self wanted to know.

Probably, the nice young gentleman said.

And when it does get posted, self will be sure and share the information with all and sundry on this blog. For such is her generosity of spirit.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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