From the onset, I knew this was going to be a losing battle. I’ve woken up determined to fail for the last six months, but holy-mother-of-Rody Duterte, this week’s slide has been too dangerously fast and I can’t take it. Wait, the week isn’t over yet.
I’m already neck-deep in feels. If I’ve done the math right, this game would be over by March–which means, I would have to pack-up, take my knives and go. Tito Boy would be so upset. But what can a muggle–with a filthy mouth and even filthier intentions–do?
I’ve been fucking dry heaving since July and I think it’s really just a matter of time before I puke my guts out. Plot twist: hello *coughs up partially digested siopao* goodbye.
That would be the happiest loss ever.