So after working out last Saturday, I headed for The Podium to get my ticket to Alfonso Cuaron’s take on Harry Potter. After the film, the members of the gang threw the usual questions of which Potter film was best, and I, in my mentally disabled state, settled for Chamber of Secrets. If I had been any better, I suppose I’d put my vote in Prisoner of Azkaban, but a lot of its nuances just flew over my head, reducing what could have been a pleasureable cinematic experience to a bunch of colored movement on a white wall.

Despite this, I joined the group to Eastwood for coffee, where the usual myriad topics were discussed, and I realized that the weeks of rest and greatly reduced mental activity did little to get my mind up to speed. I excused myself from the group at three in the morning, head heavy with a blanket of frustration.

Sunday was a little more uplifting with a trip to the grocery store, and a light chat with friend Jam over carpaccio, coffee and panacotta. Upon settling home, I marinated the beef and pork for cooking, and prepared burger patties. Finely mincing onions and garlic can be very therapeutic, a gratifying respite.

Still, the ol’ noggin’ kept on nagging for brain food. To my dismay, it chose Flip Magazine to munch on. After devouring articles by literary heavyweights Jessica Zafra, Uro dela Cruz and Krip Yuson, it relented with another case of cerebral empacho, another headache. But what could I do? I can only stare out into space for so long.

After getting supportive hugs from my housemates, I prepared my customary whey protein supplement to support my “muscle-building” regimen, to which they responded, “Kinakain na ng muscles mo yung utak mo!”
Har har har. I wonder what it’s like to be a dumb jock.


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