Something's seriously wrong with me. And I sort of know what it is.
I dread this empty sadness. This uninspired feeling. Entertaining thoughts that it's ok to just go. If I hadn't known myself better, I'd say it's contentment. But then I don't feel any sense of relief. It's a flatline. Stagnant. Unmoving.
Or maybe I'm just exhausted. Yep, I guess that's what it is. Especially since I'm starting to get spaced out more often... again.
And no, I'm not about to do a travailer. I'm not looking for my someone. At least not just yet. But let me do a repeat: it's like running on empty. I go through the motions of living. Wake up. Pretend to be busy. Eat. Breathe. Stare. The works. What more if I have my someone? Running on empty isn't exactly the ideal type. What could I possibly give? I'll just end up in heartache.
Suddenly, MkSurf8's rum Coke seemed very appealing. I've always liked rum Coke... and Johnny Walker with Coke... and Bacardi Limon... and good old Mindoro sling. But I've used up my alcohol limit over the holidays. I guess that's why I'm not getting any better. I can't say no to friends... or I just enjoy getting drunk. For real? I wanna get drunk... right now.
And I signed up for a three day retreat some time March. Hope that turns out alright. Here's to dipping my toes to the waters of faith. Life and directions. My life and what directions?
Or I'll just do an alone trip. Sagada looks promising. But then my lungs might freeze and that's not exactly a good thing. Or La Union and attempt to surf. Or Donsol with the whalesharks. Whales PLUS sharks. Whales AND sharks.
I'm hypochondriac and OC. Nurse friend told me I'm a serious case. A colleague floated psychosomatic when I told her I feel sick.
And I like washing dishes.
And I ramble.
And I stop.
So much for nonsense.
And that little globe things is kinda indulgent, I know. But it's 3D and it spins and I could play with it. Twirl it and feel as if I'm on top of things. Hey world, you're not playing me, I am playing you!
Seriously, enough with the nonsense.