Goodbye Miss Photogenic Smartass Bootlicker

I sometimes feel I am the girl in that Bridge poem. I do a better job than the Gawddamned UN, said she,  doing translation work for every body and nobody doing any translation work for her, all unpaid and deadly! the last four words of course belong to me. And since nobody does translation work for you, that means nobody loves you, uh-huh? 

I think I'm going to cry. Huhuhu.

Weeks back I was talking to a friend now with the Children Fund. I told her, how come I was given work this thick it’s three months worth in consultancy's worth and they only paid me eight pesos. She said be grateful they were able to scrimp eight pesos for you because they don’t have money anymore. (Read: Don't you know that consultants are out of job now?) So don’t complain, said she, if they have lots of money they pay you high, don’t they?

What I think is the state of the nation.

I could not tell her right on that that is not so because I was at her door selling a twenty-cents worth of crap, half of which in a language she cannot read. I could not tell her that when money was easy, I don’t think people needed talent. People don’t like to be around that bitch so difficult to work with. But now that they too lost purchasing power – much of it, anyway, contrary to the millions in funding they used to have while you licked your backsores – they want your best at your cheapest.

Ahaha, gotcha. Bitter. Bitter.

Alright, Mother Theresa. We the ungrateful… led by the unwilling, are doing the impossible for the unknowing.

I'm not really bitter, believe me. I am in fact happier today than I was yesterday. Must be my 50 years. The breadth it gave me, the range. Work posts? Books to my name? You wait, Fan. Just because you dig my stuff it doesn't mean I owe you crap.