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WAT: Well at home

  • Writer: Mark Angelo Pineda
    Mark Angelo Pineda
  • Oct 27, 2020
  • 2 min read

Updated: Oct 11, 2021

I worked at home today. Last night when I debated whether to stay at home the whole day or physically attend office tomorrow, I had a different consideration than caring for my sick dog. Before it all made sense that Sky needed me the most, I went chatting with my immediate supervisor thinking I could use today to finish my assignments for graduate studies.



It’s 6 in the evening now. I have Sky on my lap so sick and scared of thunder while on the floor, just around the corner in my room surrounded by metal screens, are her babies. They are the highlight of my day. Because I only did a short work-related task and finished my assignment, then the remainder I spent cooking lunch and feeding and talking to my dogs.


I wondered, at least for a short while, how productive my day has been. I have checked off a single task on Quire, and another one I moved to the “ongoing tab.” That was all I could do to boast my ego. But not exactly.


Had I not been satisfied with how today turned out, I would not have drafted this. Or at least thinking about writing when I was mopping the floor following a day’s worth of dump of my three cloudiesss. Today was laborious compared to a typical office day. But the mess I made in my room, including the plates we ate on, the lecture notes left wet at the balcony, and the cups of coffee I did not finish, are a beautiful mess way valuable than what I could have accomplished in the office.


I will doze off a few minutes from now and work on my deliverables until my body tells me to rest then head to work. I can do that or skip everything. I am a human, after all. That I remember before Kacey Musgraves “Wonder Woman.” That I thought of while fixing my puppies dinner and carrying Sky around like a baby she was when I first met her a year ago today.


In a nutshell, today’s been crazy but all too well.

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When the weight of the world moves with us, we readily save our tears in the bathroom. But on rare, moonlit nights, when we brave our very own eyes looking as though our mother's and swelling hearts that we still claim as ours, we write down our fears, big dreams, and that of anxiousness. For the said reason, this site exists.

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