It's cold and silent at the call floor now. All that I hear are cars vrooming outside, on the busy highway. Once in a while I hear beeping jeepneys and an ambulance passing by. Only the hiss of my computer keeps me company.
My fingertips are starting to feel numb and rubbing my hands before placing in between my knees do not help. How could I ever forget my jacket?! Tssk!
Two hours from now about 5 agents will join me in this freezer room. But after a few minutes they will transfer to the Conference room because they have a training.
No calls yet. Nobody yet. And its the weekend. The schedule just came in and they need me tomorrow as well. So I go straight for 2 weeks! But that's not all. The bad news is (or should I say worse?), the schedule for next weekend is not definite.
Wow! What a way to start a campaign. I can just imagine the agents who will be assigned in doing this. I just hope they choose people who would not waste their time sleeping while waiting for calls to come in.
Well let's see... the client did not choose me to handle this if they didn't trust me. And besides, once I'm done training the new agents, the campaign will be given to another Manager. Then I'm back to my old sked.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
I woke up in the dead of night. Silence enveloped my room. I felt shivers through my skin and realized my blanket fell to the floor. The aircon is still open proving that the timer did not work. I looked at my mobile phone next to my blanket which I usually use more as an alarm clock than a communication device. It was exactly 12:33am.
I stood up, opened the fan and closed the aircon, remembering that in my boyfriend's house they do not use an air conditioner, but a heater. What time is it in their side of the hemisphere? Is he cooking dinner, watching the telly or reading a great novel? Maybe he's playing his guitar. Four more hours and he will call to wake me up, so I laid back on my bed and tried to continue my slumber.
Tossing and turning, I remembered the papers that I need to fetch from a friend. I could pick it up tomorrow after her work, err, that would be about 6 to 7 hours from now. So I picked up my phone again, but this time to sms her. Their break will start 30 minutes from now and I better be awake and wait for the reply. Then I would know what I'd do in the morning.
Tomorrow evening I'd be going back to work. Two weeks have passed and I wasn't even able to draw or paint anything for my Honey. I used to write poems for him too but the whisperings in my head have stopped. Or maybe I was just too busy at work to listen to them that my mind got immune to their words. I lost count of the days when my writer's block started. Maybe it was less than a year ago, over, or even double. On second thought, I am starting to write again... in this blog.
Today, I finally finished a third of the book he gave me, "Three Tales" by Gustave Flaubert. Thanks to lightning and thunder who kept me away from my computer. Sometimes I feel like Felicite, who cares of nothing but her work and her beliefs that her happiness is not focused on satisfying herself, but others. But sometimes I envy her simplicity that a simple joy of a companion to talk to is all she needs, even if it would be a parrot.
Now I wonder... Why am I still keeping this blog from the love of my life? Even I, do not know the answer. If he finds this I know I do not need to be ashamed because I never really kept anything from him. And there's nothing new to discover here anyway. I meant this blog to be a surprise on our monthssary but it's been a month now and I have posted alot already. I don't want him to feel that I am keeping him away from my thoughts. Although he is a person who respects my privacy and insists that I should never tell him any of my passwords.
He used to be my "stalker" too. He's the first one to read my posts (on my other blogs), he finds out new blogs that I create and even prints my poems and tries to decipher them. He loves to read and I was his novel; his poet; his artist. I remember making great pieces from the only available materials that I have. I never really studied art and do not have any real mediums available. So he gave me real oil, expensive canvass paper and brushes, which I haven't really used yet. I don't know why but I feel afraid to use them and disappoint him with the outcome. Although I know he always supports me and I can make whatever I want.
A few days back he encouraged me to write again. He always reminds me to read my books or watch the DVD's he gave me. He would love to know that I spend at least a few minutes each day to be creative again. Paint or draw or just read one poem at least once a day. Of course he respects my decisions and he never forced me to do anything I do not like. But I really do not know why my creative juices suddenly froze.
He asked me to write at least a diary. So I smiled and suggested an online journal. But his notion was he's always doubtful of people online. Some people tend to be too honest. And I know what he meant by this. But he also joked that I would probably fall asleep writing on a diary. (Ha!) Although he mentioned about some who write under pseudonyms. (Hmm.. like now?)
Tomorrow is not only this blog's monthssary but also ours. So I'm thinking ...should I tell him about this then or still keep it as my private diary (that is actually open to the rest of the world) Oh! The irony.
