23 December 2008

I love my sister, I love my sister, I love my sister...

The other day, I awoke to a very disturbing phenomenon albeit its being commonplace in the freak show that is my life.

My Colegiala beyond repair sister #2 on the phone. To relive the horror:

[I Assumed, The Party On The Other Line: How can we help you?]
My Colegiala Beyond Repair Sister #2: Umm, I'm calling to verify my application?

[IATPOTOL: What's your full name?]
MCBRS#2: Um, Maya Viola Serenade?

[IATPOTOL: How old are you?]
MCBRS#2: Um, 19?

[IATPOTOL: How are you related to Salsa Falsetto?]
MCBRS#2: Um, I'm her daughter?

[IATPOTOL gave instructions of some sort]
MCBRS#2: Um, I got it: I'll just drop by the nearest branch for the payment?

[IATPOTOL: When was the application submitted?
MCBRS#2: Um, we submitted it last week?

I swear. Would've been clearer if this post came with some audio effects to show the unifying intonation in that verbal pingpong. The world presents a bajillion questions for its youth and, apparently, my sister has all of them. And here I'd been worried about my own personal confusions, when my sister isn't even sure what her name is.

This happened on a lazy afternoon. One that I waited for for a well deserved power nap which I wish lasted for a few minutes longer... enough to keep myself in the dark about my poor sister's questions... I wish I could help her get answers, but sadly thinking of pseudonyms takes all of my remaining energy. Plus I'm too busy chanting my new affirmation:

I love my sister, I love my sister, I freaking love. My sister.
QWERTY-ed by Paoper at 00:19 |  
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