Vera

 Because I do not have my own room, I find myself in too many different places in one night. And now I've grown tired of these places. People come in and out, carrying their bottles of beer or cups of coffee like trophies of independence and freedom to paint the night beautifully, unplanned. And then there are the smiles. Always those nods and smiles that make everyone feel they are not actually hanging from threads and threads of sadness, and - no matter how many stories and silent sympathies are shared - anonymity. photo by Russ, 'turtled' in drinks

My eight-hour, five-day office schedule is highlighted by Dave Matthews Band singing to wake me up and help me avoid hitting my drooping head on the computer screen. For the nth time, my headphones got busted. The left (or right) earpiece always manages to 'malfunction' itself, and I'm left with my lonely right (or left) ear blasted with songs it can never share with my left (or right) ear. I told my boss I will quit by May. And "Yes, I am decided already," and "No, there's no possibility of extending my stay. I've given this much thought already." "I admit I will be taking a risk, but better to do that than to forever wonder what I could have done more outside these office walls." "No, I can't see myself being Ms. Corporate-Communication-head in the future." "Yes, I feel more fulfilled outside." There's a song replaying a thousand times in my head, "I'm a lonely little petunia in an onion patc...

asked the woman who cut my hair. No. Of course not. Try to shut up, please, and comb my hair softly. I know it's thick, black — and you wonder why, and you ask me, like the others before, "Did you have your hair dyed?" And I say no again for the thousandth time — probably stubborn, and difficult to deal with. But I'm trying to be happy while getting lost inside SM on this extremely lonely Sunday. So please, be patient with my hair. Smile, too. Make me believe I am worth your time.