The Mid-Year Resumé (Of Corporate Blue Balls and Divine Deliverance)

Dear Moi,

It’s June 2026. My last entry was back in August 2025, and Jesus, a lot can happen in ten months. I’ve gone slightly quiet on here, but the plot has only thickened. Right now, I am currently wearing a brand-new professional hat—at least on an interim basis. Because apparently, my life’s theme this year is “holding the position until further notice.”

If we’re doing a mid-year life audit to break the radio silence, let’s just say the portfolio is a mixed bag of corporate paradoxes, academic pauses, emotional exorcisms, and highly efficient resource allocation.

The Personal & Spiritual Life: Exes, Manifestations, and Sunday Void

Let’s be real on the romance front: I am still searching for "The One." In the meantime, The Ex is still hovering in the periphery. The intense longing and the occasional workday trysts have finally slowed down to a trickle, and my brain knows it’s time to close the book. I just needed that final, undeniable push. Enter his upcoming birthday and Australia plans. Nothing says "move the hell on" quite like geographic displacement and a milestone reminder that life goes on. It’s the final nail in the coffin. I’m still doing stupid things occasionally, but at least they’re less painful and come with a significantly shorter hangover of regret.

On the spiritual side, I’ve actually been daily adoring the Lord by reading the Bible. Yet, my Sunday obligation has been lacking. There's this lingering emptiness, and honestly, I just wish I had someone to pray with.

So, I am actively manifesting a tall, handsome partner who is both financially and emotionally stable. The goal? To support one another, be a collective light for people like us, and prove to the world that God deeply loves us sinners. Until he arrives to share the pew with me, I'm keeping the faith solo.

The Academic Front: The Law School Hiatus

Speaking of reading, the textbooks look a little different lately. Right now, I’m officially on an academic leave from law school. Between the new role and my expanded workload, there are just not enough hours in the day to comfortably accommodate the grind of law.

But I am stubborn. I still desperately want to continue and finish what I started. Even in my current job, the legal knowledge has been an incredible asset. I'm currently on the fence about whether to enroll this coming semester, and I've even resorted to trying to convince my best friend to join the madness with me. The signs to continue are abundant—especially during my daily Bible readings—so the universe is definitely nudging me back toward the courtroom. I just need to figure out the logistics.

The Advocacy Life: High Public Speaking, Higher Returns

On the advocacy front, things took a deliciously grand turn. I was given the stage at a national convention. Granted, it was just a breakout parallel session, but a win is a win! To top it off, they asked me to host the entire two-day national educational forum.

The organizers, in their infinite institutional generosity, compensated me a grand total of ₱5,000.

Naturally, I did the only logical thing a professional could do: I used that modest honorarium to fund a three-day solo travel getaway. And because I believe in maximizing every single asset, the trip culminated in a spectacular ménage à trois. Let’s just say, while one was sitting on me, another was rhythmically pounding me into the mattress. Hands down, the best ₱5,000 investment I have ever made. Talk about a high-yield return on advocacy work.

The Work Life: The OIC Paradox (Or, The Art of Executive Babysitting)

Finally, we hit the day job. I am officially at the halfway mark of a four-week stint as the Officer-in-Charge of the -------------—an assignment spanning May 28 to June 25. The initial thrill of the appointment has settled, the announcement memo is buried under a mountain of unread emails, and right on cue, the mid-assignment realization has hit me like a splash of ice-cold water.

Here is the sexy, frustrating truth about being a short-term, interim OIC: It is a profound exercise in organizational blue balls.

On paper, you’re steering the ship while the top honcho is away. In reality, you quickly start to wonder if you’re actually leading, or if you’re just a glorified, highly dressed-up placeholder keeping the leather chair warm. Over the last two weeks, a distinct pattern has emerged. Because everyone knows the permanent administrator returns on June 25, human nature has defaulted to a collective holding pattern. When daily operational questions arise, my colleagues don’t look to the OIC desk. They either bypass me to find a direct line to the vacationing boss, or they simply sit on decisions until the calendar turns.

I get the structural boundaries, obviously. In a highly regulated healthcare environment, nobody expects a temporary OIC to rewrite policy or dismantle the hierarchy. I fully respect that major financial sign-offs—like signing checks—and executing Memorandums of Agreement (MOAs) must remain within the permanent administrator’s purview. You don’t hand over the corporate checkbook for a 28-day assignment.

But what about everything else?

When staff completely bypass the interim role for daily choices, the OIC position becomes a title without teeth. All of the accountability if something goes wrong, with none of the actual traction to drive the day-to-day. It leaves you sitting in the corner office mid-way through the month, wondering: What really is my mandate here?

With 14 days left on the clock, I’ve realized that waiting for people to suddenly treat a short-term OIC like the permanent boss is a losing game. The strategy has to change. If I can't be the final decision-maker on the big items, I am going to become the ultimate gatekeeper of the pipeline.

The goal for the remaining two weeks isn’t to sign the MOAs; it’s to build the runway. It’s about filtering the daily noise so operations don't stall, troubleshooting friction on the floor, and thoroughly vetting those upcoming agreements now. That way, when June 25 arrives, the returning administrator isn't met with a chaotic backlog, but with a pristine, fully reviewed, and incredibly satisfying stack of documents ready for signature.

Being a short-term OIC isn't about wielding absolute authority; it’s an exercise in managing continuity under pressure. But it highlights a critical lesson for any organization: even for a brief period, an interim leader needs a clear, explicitly communicated mandate from the top.

Without it, you aren't managing an institution—you're just babysitting a title. And frankly, I prefer my power plays to happen in the bedroom, not the boardroom.

Two more weeks to go. Let's make it look effortless.

Habit or an addiction?

Dear Moi,

It's been a minute, hasn't it? So much has happened. Professionally, I've just been handed a 9K increase for my new responsibilities. While it's not quite the industry standard for a director, it's a hell of a lot more than what the other new directors got—they're still making more than me thanks to tenure, but their raises were less than half of mine. A little secret, the perks of being friends with the HR boss gives you some very useful information. It’s a small victory, but a sweet one.

On a much more personal, and far more thrilling note, the trysts with my ex are still very much a thing. In fact, just a little while ago, he gave me head inside my office. I had to close my door and pretend to be on a very important, and very nonsensical, call for the benefit of my staff right outside.

Talk about a fever dream turned reality. It was a breathless, clandestine moment. He claims I'm his stress reliever from his toxic work and academic life. And I, the willing squeeze ball, can't argue with that. He's a good sucker with a taste for jungle juice. It's an intoxicating mix of power and pleasure, and a delicious distraction from the mundane.

This feels like a monumental moment, something I had to memorialize. My first blowjob at the office, during office hours. It's exhilarating and I'm living for it, but I'm also guarding my heart.

Exciting times, indeed.

Something Wild and Stupid

Dear Moi,

It was a couple of days ago that my team, including my ex, went out of town for a work commitment. It wasn't a surprise when we ended up as roommates since we're on the same team. Given our history—and of course, our shared libido—it wasn’t long before something happened, and not just once.

After we opened up about our financial struggles, he asked if I was game for a troika, and my curiosity got the best of me. I agreed. He invited a guy he'd had a tryst with before. This guy was small, but he had a surprisingly large and spastic dick. We used poppers and got into it, so much so that my jaw ached. There was no penetration, as we didn't have any condoms. I was tempted to sit on his dick, but I still have some reservations about bottoming—that’s a story for another time.

On our last night, my ex invited several other people to join us for my first orgy at forty-something. At first, I was okay, but I was so drunk that I had trouble staying hard. I was penetrated by a hunk, and I really enjoyed it, but because of my own unresolved self-hatred, I pretended I didn't.

I was lucky that the guys were all very understanding. We started at 11 p.m. and didn't end until after 6 a.m. Overall, it was a pretty jarring experience. I was the oldest one there, and at times I felt left out—maybe I was just imagining things, or maybe I'm still not over my ex. I felt a pang of sadness watching him with other guys, yet I also loved seeing him ride another man and hearing him moan. It was strange—I had no trouble getting hard when I was fucking him, but as soon as it was time for the other bottom, my dick went soft.

Seeing my ex and the other guys cuddling and being intimate made my heart ache a little, but I know our time is over.

One of the things that really made me reflect was when my ex's current boyfriend called him while two other guys and I were in the room, getting ready for the orgy. It made me sad to think back and realize that he rarely, if ever, hid in a blanket to talk to me during our relationship. It was a wake-up call that maybe his nature is to have multiple partners.

My ex also talked about his experiences in Thailand, where he was bottomed by locals and topped sometimes. I want him to top me, but I know it's not really his nature, and my own hang-ups about bottoming are still unresolved.

Will I participate in another multiple-partner encounter? Maybe. I don't know yet.

Whispers in the Pantry: A First Etching

Dear Moi,

My fingers tremble even now as I commit this secret to the digital page – a clandestine encounter that has left an indelible mark. It began as so many stolen moments do, under the cloak of night, within the most unexpected sanctuary: the work pantry. The air crackled with unspoken anticipation, a silent symphony played out in stolen glances and hushed breaths.

But tonight, the script took an intoxicating turn. My paramour, with a knowing glint in his eyes, had orchestrated a prelude I hadn't dared to imagine. A shared secret, a whispered invitation – the "rush" he offered was more than chemical; it was the dizzying acceleration of desire already simmering between us.

Then, the kiss. Not a peck, not a brush of lips, but a torrid claiming, a merging that stole the very air from my lungs. It was a promise whispered in the language of tongues, a prelude to the exquisite transgression that followed.

The cool, unforgiving floor became our forbidden stage. Each stolen touch, each gasp, each frantic movement was a rebellion against the mundane, a fervent dance fueled by pure, unadulterated longing. We moved as one, a kaleidoscope of tangled limbs and fervent whispers, exploring the contours of our desire in a breathless ballet of forbidden pleasure.

A shiver of delicious risk ran through me with every thrust, every moan. The thought of unseen eyes, the silent sentinel of the CCTV, only amplified the thrill. Were we captured in our rawest moments? The possibility added a razor's edge to the ecstasy, a secret thrill that only we would share.

This wasn't just a physical act; it was an etching. A moment seared into my memory, a testament to the intoxicating power of desire unleashed in the most unlikely of places. My marking, a brand of pleasure and secrecy that I will carry with a secret smile.

Dear Moi, some firsts are simply unforgettable. And this one? This one pulses with a vibrant, illicit energy that will linger long after the memory of the cool pantry floor fades.

Talk About Romantic Relationship

Dear Moi

May has arrived, and while a part of me feels a sense of lightness, there's still a lingering undercurrent of uncertainty. It's been a full year since I left my ex after his infidelity, yet the complexities of our connection continue to occupy my thoughts.

Despite the pain of his betrayal, I find myself still drawn to him. He possesses a captivating quality that keeps me engaged on multiple levels. Our paths cross daily at work, leading to playful exchanges and flirtatious banter. A part of me still feels a deep desire to care for him, and the words "come home, I'll accept you" often surface, even though a deeper knowing tells me his heart now belongs to the person he cheated with. Perhaps I've become someone he uses for lighthearted flirtation and a release of physical tension.

The truth is, the physical intimacy we've shared since reconnecting – four times now – has been undeniably intense, at least from my perspective. While I crave more of that connection, I'm trying not to become overly attached, choosing instead to appreciate these encounters for what they are. However, the weekends feel empty, knowing he's sharing them, and his life, with his current partner.

In the digital realm, I've also connected with someone new. We met on the "g app," and I've been struck by his intelligence and the surprising depth of our psychological connection. It's a bit of a rollercoaster, though, as he has ghosted me three times, only to reappear. Currently, we're in a phase of playful conversation and sexting. We're both in our forties, and while I appreciate our mental rapport, I have some reservations. He's a bottom, and on the curvier side, while I'm a switch and have only ever been with bottoms. I'm curious about exploring bottoming myself, and I've typically been attracted to leaner physiques.

Adding another layer of complexity, I recently connected with someone who seemed to tick all the boxes for a potential partner. Yet, I found myself pulling away and ultimately ghosting him. Fear gripped me – he seemed almost too good to be true, and I worried about setting myself up for heartbreak, especially knowing he had his own past wounds.

Despite these connections, I still have Tinder and hold onto the hope of meeting someone who could be a true life partner. I long for the simple joys of attending mass with someone special and miss the profound intimacy of sharing vulnerabilities, fears, laughter, and tears.

My heart continues to yearn for a genuine partnership. I'm sending my prayers out into the universe, hoping to meet the person who will truly walk alongside me through life.

Easter musings

 Dear Moi,

Happy Easter 2025! 

Things have certainly been interesting on my end. Remember that vacant position I mentioned? Well, I'm now the presumptive officer! It's funny because I was actually manifesting for a different role with the same rank, so this came as a surprise. I'm feeling a mix of fear and gratitude as I step into this new responsibility.

Interestingly, I learned some of the behind-the-scenes dynamics during the nomination process. Apparently, one of the administrators didn't vote for me. Instead, she supported someone within her own division – and here's the twist – that person happens to be my former protégé... and ex. Talk about a plot twist! I honestly don't understand her opposition, but as they say, you can't please everyone.

Speaking of the ex, we've been in contact for a couple of months now, both professionally and personally. To be completely honest, we've been intimate a few times, even though he's still with the person he cheated on. I'm grappling with a lot of complex emotions about this situation. Is he doing this to keep me attached, or is it simply pity sex? The only thing clear is the undeniable release of sexual tension during our encounters.

On the advocacy front, things seem to be in a bit of a lull. The NBI concern is still pending, although all the necessary steps have been taken. I anticipate things will pick up again in May with the re-accreditation process. For the other advocacy, we have the oath-taking next week, and with a manager now in place, I'm hopeful that things will run more smoothly compared to previous years. I'm also trying to figure out how to fit in my training obligations. I've already submitted some documents to partially cover the Thailand training from January.

Finances continue to be a major source of anxiety, especially with the looming mortgage. I'm three months behind on payments, and I'm genuinely terrified. I'm praying that the increased salary from my presumptive position, starting in June, will provide some much-needed relief. I know I need to explore the services offered by Pag-IBIG and SSS. I'm incredibly grateful for my mom's support, but the truth is, I'm really struggling financially right now – even my cat's food is in jeopardy.

On a brighter note, I passed the midterm exams for all three of my law school subjects. I'm now focusing on gathering the strength to push through until the finals, which are scheduled for the first or second week of May. If all goes well and I have some funds left over, I'm considering taking two subjects over the summer.

Well, that's where things stand for now.

No images because I'm too lazy.

Whiff of Anxiety and Change

Dear Moi,

The calendar flipped, and with it came a wave of dread. It feels like I'm living in a pressure cooker, where every aspect of my life is simmering on high.

The weight of unpaid bills and looming mortgages keeps me awake at night, each number a cruel reminder of my financial instability. My heart aches with the bittersweet taste of fleeting moments with my ex, a toxic dance I know I need to stop. He is with someone else, and I am destroying my own peace.

My body is a battlefield. The extra weight, the growing lipoma, and the years of neglected health are a testament to my self-neglect. I long for the energy and vitality I once had, a distant memory I desperately want to reclaim.

The academic path to 2027 feels like a mountain I'm ill-equipped to climb. The fear of adding more subjects is a constant shadow. I dream of summer courses, CLEP, ATAP, and Corporate Law, but the financial reality feels insurmountable.

Professionally, a glimmer of hope shines through the directorship vacancy. After years of being overlooked, this feels like my chance. The support of my colleagues is a lifeline, but the fear of another disappointment is a heavy burden.

My advocacy work, my passion, is also under siege. The credit cooperative's digital transformation and the ethics board's legal battles are draining. I feel the weight of responsibility, even though the legal issues are beyond our control.

The first quarter of 2025 is fading into memory. I pray for a second quarter filled with grace and financial relief. Mom's unwavering support is a blessing, but I yearn for the day I can stand on my own.

This is more than just a list of problems; it's a plea for change. I need to rewrite my story, to close the unfinished chapters and begin anew. I need to find my strength, my resilience, and my hope.