Life in a Day

Here's how it goes in a day of my life: I wake up past noon, I count my remaining TUC (time of useful consciousness) until I have to sleep again, and I prepare for the night. I usually have about four hours to play with until I need to hit the sack again, and it's always never enough. Today I got up at 2+. My reporting is at 2355 tonight. This means I need to get out by 10:30pm, which means I need to wake up by 9pm, which also means I need to sleep by 6pm if I want to have a chance at a very good rest before work. (It also means that while everyone else is out there counting down and celebrating, we would have only been 5 minutes into work. Well.) So according to my calculations, my TUC is less than four hours. And if we are to abide by my calculations strictly, I'm supposed to be sleeping right now. But I'm not, yet, because I always feel like there's not enough time for everything. First thing I did after I got up today was to eat some good digestive biscuits from Marks & Spencers (only 75p, wow), and then I started to prepare for work. First I dread preparing, then I wrote down the name list, next I pasted the stickers on the bar order pad (my least favourite part of preparing), then I folded said stickers individually so that it's easier to be torn out later (my least favourite part of preparing), then I wrote down seat numbers for both aisle (my least favourite part of preparing). And then I had to pack, so I did (also my least favourite part of preparing). (I really hate preparing for work.) Subsequently I painted my nails. All twenty of them. Then because I'm going home after this, I needed to pack extra clothes and some extra junks I bought on previous trips to bring back. And because I only have a limited cubic centi meter to fill up, I need to decide which junk to bring with me, and which will be remain in my nail-polish-smelling room. Today I'm bringing three Christmas presents along with me, I hope my beautiful handwork of wrapping doesn't fall apart. I also hope the contents don't die. I'm kidding. I am against buying living things for people. Except flowers. Because flowers are lovely and brighten up people's day and is just a short-term commitment. I will never buy tortoises as a present to others.


[to be continued because I intend to have a great time at work tonight and the first step to such success is to have enough sleep, kthxbai brb]

breathe for a minute

seriously
when will i be able to blow my nose
like everyone else 

- my first attempt at poetry



the birds are chirping
why am i not sleeping

- monologue at 5:47am



my dreams are made of gold
- none of which i possess

When instructed to reach out to a specific chocolate bar and pop it into my mouth, the motor nerves in both my hands complied obediently. It was only when I felt the nougat and all its glory (so cleverly hidden beyond the fancy triangular shape) binding the upper and lower right corner teeth of mine for a little unnecessarily too long (1 millisecond) that I remembered that I had, indeed, brushed my teeth, a dreadful responsibility usually not yet executed at this hour. I immediately pretended not to remember about it. Half an hour thereafter my stomach would find another three uninvited (mini) bars of Twix in it. Caramel proved to be a better binding agent than nougat.

These days I dread everything. It's such an un-adult thing to say, but it is what it is. I dread waking up, I dread cleaning my room, I dread getting food - most of the time I STILL DON'T KNOW WHAT I WANT. In short I dread carrying out basic human functions, and you may or may not attempt to translate that further. And yes, I have finally reached that stage where I dread going to work, not at all to my surprise. I knew this day would come, I knew it all along. (No it didn't come fast) In the early days I did experience such dread, but four solos later I met this really nice and caring senior who restored what's left of my faith, and I had been looking forward to going to work ever since, to work with nice people like her, you know. And then, life went on well. And then, I sort of (but no, not really) got upgraded some half a year ago (okay, to put it better - the colony of people I deal with got upgraded), and that's how I got into this very state, a suspicion I had developed some time ago when I swam slightly deeper into my silent monologues, but did not have the means to launch an investigation upon.

(From now on I shall let my soulless body dwell in the hands of fate, wherever it drops me I shall land gracefully, like the 10000th aircraft made by Airbus, with an excellent pilot on an excellent runway.)

I know, I know, I can't change circumstances, but I can change myself, right? Right. Okay. Rant over. Anyway, you know that feeling, the one that you have at least, at the very least, once, in your lifetime, the sudden exciting urge to create something? Yeah I had that at 3 in the midnight after my first chocolate bar, and that is how this had come to exist. Given that I don't know enough to create anything else of any form, this is the least I can do for myself. It's either this or trouble.

I need to stop buying chocolates.

I learned that writing is the consolation prize you are given when you don't get the thing you want the most. - Lang Leav

I wish I had never stopped writing. Slightly inspired and mostly unsettled, yet again, I make my guest star appearance here. I have come to realized that my other channel of output will from time to time be on limited access mode, so at the end of the day (literally and figuratively) I'm all I've got. I spent my night doing laundry and engaging in stickers-sticking activity. It's not all too bad. Sometimes I think I am bad company to myself, but it takes times where work demands my presence around people I have never seen my entire life and have absolutely zero interest in committing any form of human relationship with but utterance of no less than five sentences to, each, is necessary to remind me what an offensive thought that is. I love my own company and being able to be in it is privileged bliss. But right I'm not at work and I fail to feel that way.