This week was supposed to be happy. This week was supposed to be a cause for celebration. This week, I was supposed to be rejoicing. Because this week, Francis' contract was supposed to expire. Supposed to. But did not.
In fact, their Japanese client requested that his contract be extended until the end of this month. That means 3 more painstaking weeks.
Okay, maybe I'm overreacting. (Or maybe not.)
Fine. Somehow, he and I made it through two months. Sure, the first few weeks were really an adjustment period (yes, there were irrational, petty fights), but I'm proud we made it. Thank God we made it. So now I'm praying for those additional 3 weeks that are supposed to be spent here and not there in Cavite.
To think we'd be celebrating our 9th year three Mondays from now. (This is my cue to sob.) Gah. But we shall find a way. We shall, we shall.
Oh well. I guess it really is time for a haircut. But because Francis begged me to put it off until after our anniversary, fine, then I'm putting it off (had my locks chopped off a few days before our 7th; it went too short it made me look like a typhoid-stricken porcupine cam-whoring in Tagaytay). I just don't know if I can still hold in the urge to run off to a salon for any longer. Wail, wail, wail.
P.S.
Come to think of it, an extended contract means Francis is doing well in his job. The Japs must have been quite impressed; and Francis got a thumbs up from his boss. Ergo, Francis deserves a reward.
Francis, go and ask for two free roundtrip tickets to Japan so we can parade the streets of Harajuku in our Death Note garb. I'll be Misa-misa, you can be L. Let's not forget to bring a tea cup. Now go, go, go!!!
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