Part of being a writer is discovering new things due to research. It can be as mundane as sleeping masks and bizarre as healing crystals. This time, I'm working on an academic essay and looking up Tracks by Robyn Davidson.
I've gotten the gist of this extraordinary book. Shame I might not have the chance to read it though.
It unraveled some knotted thoughts in my head. I asked why was I heading to work at 11 pm and not in some jungle and having an expedition. Why was I here in the first place – is this life, finally, for me? Is this it?
It's been two days in a row that I've been eating soft pretzels at work. We're not allowed to bring in food but fuck the po-po. I don't care. I'm high and I'm getting the munchies. So, fuck off.
I'm such a slack. I know that pretzels aren't any good for me but then again, fuck it. I am barely working out – fuck – there goes my fitness goals.
I might be pregnant
I had unprotected sex in the middle and third quarter of my cycle. I could be pregnant – the morning after pill might not had worked. I could be having an abortion about a month from now.
I hate the rain very much.
* We're starting to engage in phone calls where there's really nothing to talk about. It feels like we'd be better off not talking.
He has asked me to pay for his prepaid credits. I was like, “Why don't you buy them (on your own) from there?”
His reply was, “(Some excuse that I thought was lousy)” *
A quote that I keep in my notes is, “If you embrace the meaninglessness and the futility of your actions, you open doors of happiness, no matter how momentary.” It is from one of my existentialist idols, Camus.
I don't feel burnt out, but more like de-saturated. Kinda like I just wanna lie in bed and smoke weed and not care about anything in the world. Just listen to music and get high. Not put up a face in front of anyone. Not wear pants.
No, I don't feel like I'm playing a losing game or anything. I just want to play differently because I wanna feel differently. I just wanna succumb to the blacks, greys, and whites that everything comes to be in the end.
It's not the weather, no. It's just...life at its most futile and meaningless state.
I'M PLEASED WITH THE FACT that I fulfilled my plans after college – escape my parents, rent an apartment in the city, work a high paying job, indulge in shenanigans and weekend trips. So far, so good – then I realize one thing: I'm still part of the rat race.
According to forecast it was supposed to be flat, but when I visited this weekend, we got shoulder high and head high waves.
You really can never really tell the weather or predict the future.
After three weeks of no wave, chasing and riding waves of this size took a toll on my body. Right now, my biceps are sore (but it's fine). I snagged a bit of sleep before heading to my night shift. I'm writing this in the office, in between work loads.
In the absence of waves and summer heat, I've been focusing on my website, developing personal interests, reading, and organizing my writer life...alongside full-time work.
Things aren't easy.
Previously I caught myself in an emotional break down and had to spend two more hours in the office just to cry. Pressure and stress are real and they trigger me. It doesn't help that I've become uncomfortable with my co-workers lately.
Sometimes I couldn't juggle everything; my relationship went through bumpy roads and I had considered terminating it (probably due to the fact that I stayed awake for 24 hours to join the Pride Festival). Nevertheless, I'd still be seeing him this weekend.
I still take my prescription everyday, I sleep just fine, and I can eat. (Although I'm trying to lose a pinch of fat via intermittent fasting and yoga...when I still have time.)
Things have normalized; I'm totally fine about my six-hour sleep last night. It is an opportunity to earn extra cash and I'm willing to dig every speck of gold so I can sustain my lifestyle and still save for the future. I can't complain because it allows me to sustain my marijuana habit and weekend escapades. Without it, I wouldn't afford going solo to a resort and spend 500 pesos for a 90-minute practice swim. Recently, I purchased a new glass pipe from GRAV and scored local weed plus some kush. Talk about money well-spent.
Life goes on. I'm grateful I can keep calm, thanks to meds.
I want a life where I work 20 hours a week and spend the rest of it playing, dreaming, and simply living and breathing. I want to wake up every morning to an endless blue. I want to live in a small hut that's filled with salty air and sweet laughter. Dream catchers and sea shells hang from the ceiling. The bed just stays unmade. The wooden flooring never loses sand. I am always happy.
In my belly is a breakfast of fresh seafood and fragrant rice. Life is good. I take big meals like this after the morning surf with good friends.
I rest for a bit and admire the perfect weather. Under the shade of mango trees, I smoke my pipe whilst swinging from a hammock. I turn some music on. I feel the beat in my hears and I could almost taste it in my mouth.
The salty, warm air caress my skin like a mother kissing the cheeks of her baby. I look at my reflection and marvel at my sun-tanned skin, worn out clothes, and locks that haven't been combed in years. My eyes are filled with a youthful wonder that defies age.
I want to live in a paradise where home is everywhere and nowhere.
June marks the beginning of the wet season and the flat season for my home break – Real. This month I've managed to start saving money (in a bottle of beer) and it has been all about my surfboard maintenance, too.
My meds worked fine for me. I had some emotional breakdown and burn out phases but I made it alive and unscathed. I'm still working my job. I'm going a little well with my colleagues but I'm not as engaged as before. I experienced a lot of pressure that kind of pushed me to the edge. My freelance work is going well, but my independent label hasn't really kicked off yet. I'm still relying on orders from a white label company.
I had good times with my current partner. Really fun. Things got serious just this month, and likewise the cracks had just started.
It feels like I'm screwing my life up again. But is it really screwed up? Recently it feels like I'm in the healthiest relationship I've ever been in and that I've found the road to fulfilling my self-actualization needs. But now, it feels like my life is on a ride where the steering wheel is not on my hands.
And I hate that feeling. I hate the fact that he just smokes my dope like it's his dope too. He does the same with my pack of cigarettes. Probably I'm being selfish but isn't there supposed to be an ownership boundary between us, still? It makes me feel like I'm just about to have the same exact problems as in my last relationship.
I gotta be focused. I couldn't fuck it up again. I've known myself long enough to understand how my life ought to work. I'll just find more time for myself. That's right, I might just stay home next weekend and take care of myself and write more. Cool plan, cool plan.
I am unsure right now about my relationship. It sucks. Luckily we don't live together and I can get space from everyone whenever I want to. Maybe this is partly due to the gloomy fact that there are no waves. If we just surfed and played out in the ocean, life would just be a breeze.
i didn't hear from him today and it was fine. i knew that he was busy and i myself was busy, too. i finished two articles, took a picture of me, got adequate sleep, did yoga for 30 minutes. i also got doped up.
it was awesome. i wish it would always be like this for me – productive and got all my shit together. oh, i have finally taken a bath before going to work.
i'm thinking about working as a full time writer. writing is and has always been my dream job. it's the main reason i'm finding time to practice writing while i still have a night job. i'm planning to ask the white label company i'm currently working for (part time).
in the meantime, my goal is to write more, fine tune my voice, know myself more as a writer, and not get too caught up with the fine details of life.
I woke up late (again). I barely had time to dress up and wasn't able to walk from the gas station to our office – had to pay a motorcycle driver. My goal was to get some cardio by walking approx 2 kms a day. Today, I just failed. And it's okay, I can always try tomorrow.
Did I oversleep or not, that's the real question. No, I just got enough sleep today. Since I took medication apparently I had lost my bipolar superpowers. I couldn't function while sleep deprived and my body now claims the sleep it needs. Kind of a bummer actually.
So what did I do after work today? I smoked weed and chilled like a fucking sloth. I tried to get just a bit of sleep (4 hours?) so I could work about 6 pm afterwards. Didn't happen. Didn't even get to do yoga.
I posted on Facebook a quote from Frank Ocean's album:
“When people become weed-heads they become sluggish, lazy, stupid and unconcerned
Sluggish, lazy, stupid and unconcerned
That's all marijuana does to you, okay?”
I'll make it different tomorrow. I'll just do all my stuff then smoke weed before going to work.