Set 18, 2014

The yearly greeting, P—

Both are asleep. Had a hand in that because the elder reminded and the younger pulled. Always a small check in the win column, always something worth doing as it's probably less than three years from now and they won't want me around at bedtime.

The antibiotics say I can work tomorrow, so there, tough luck to my examinees. Looks like mice have done a number on these.

About that. Maybe a good reason's because you two look quite alike. Seems this has been at the back of my mind since last semester, but the thought never gained traction because you two do not look much alike—aside from the skin, the fat of the arms, and maybe something of the nose—so a possible truth I've been avoiding: I want you two to look alike. You're down a couple of notches in the intelligence department though, that's for sure (I suspect I am too, one sound notch, but it's always harder to assess the self, log in your eye and all that, plus the age difference), and that's easy to know in your case because you're both lazy in the spots where the world shakes the hand of perseverance, doggedness, hustle.

There were other spots, sure, and how you lingered. How's this one doing? You won't be smiling at my next steps even if they're the very same ones you took.

Reporting from above: the poor are still hungry, as you long ago expected they would be (give or take 37 raffle winners, golden wedding recipients, OFWs, the showbiz-kissed). A bottle to your foresight.

Common wisdom says the wretched have it better than you. I could ask them, but what . . . with these words? Your son will murder me when he comes of age and reads this. Cheers, boy!

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