First callback attempt
Mood: harassed, yet optimistic
Listening to: a hill-billy customer
1:58 AM
no calls. finally.
runny nose. i've ran out of tissue. it's my rest day and i am slaving in front of a dell monitor, trying to decipher my customer's dsl problem through the thick layer of his combined southern accent, phone static, and ever-escalating frustration.
for the second time today, i stupidly bumped/skinned my knee against this protruding metal under my desk. and to add the proverbial salt to the wound, i've got a big zit on my face.
not a good night (or day, whatever you're circadian clock dictates).
right this minute, i should be snuggling in my warm, soft bed at home, imagining what my life would be had i more money than the dilapidated 50 peso bill in my wallet. of course, when i do get into imagination/fantasy mode, i often go think about one of my favorite futurama settings. it's actually like having a mental finger stuck between the favorite pages of a book that you've been reading and re-reading all your life. i often zero in on what i'd do if i had more money and what i'd do with a pocketbook that actually contains BILLS rather than COINS in it.
hmmm... now, once i get started, i usually have grand delusions of myself driving a car, owning a state-of-the-art mobile phone, sporting new breasts (hehe)
, and leaving a trail of minced-meat hearts behind me. not to mention feeling absolute glee at the "am i stupid or am i stupid" looks on the faces of all those ex-boyfriends who have, in one way or the other, left me out in the cold for a younger, big-breasted, credit-card, swiping hussy. please, not to discourage art and creativity at its finest. allow me to be shallow and petty for the whole duration of my often-disputed 15-minute break on the job.
with these delusions swirling mightily like van gogh's "starry, starry night" in my head, i am, of course, fully aware that all these are the result of a sleep-starved, TV-deprived, caffeine/nicotine overloaded mind. eventually, after a precious 6-hour sleep, my feet floats gently back to reality. i have to eventually wake up and face my self in the mirror. these, i know, are but mere leftover shards from a silly, pig-tailed, 6-year old's mirror, safe in her short-lived disney princess world.
so there.
i gradually flutter back to the land of the PHP372/day and cram my freudian thoughts deep into my mental pockets called "id" and "superego". i blow my nose on my quickly-diminishing stack of stolen tissue from the ladies' cr, take a deep breath, put on my headset and press a button on my avaya.
[silence]
agents on avail! 
halellujah for small mercies.
not a bad day after all, huh?
