V e r i t a s . S o p h i a . I u s t i t i a

I don't want to do this anymore. It is altogether meaningless to me. I nod and nod as though my head were attached to a spring. I sit here in my cubbie hole and know I should be doing something but I can't get out of my seat, my arms are weighed down by manacles of noxious lead, they corrode into my flesh and burn apart my nerves. My hands are either shaking or they are paralyzed. One or the other. I am on an island and joy would flood my heart if I could sink or drift far away from here. He is looking at me, to me, and I have nothing but a dull emptiness to impart. I don't know why I should care so much what he thinks of me and shamed for how little I care to change anything anyway. It's a struggle everyday. Despairing, it is a constant struggle. I need time to do it well, to line up to take my shot, but the short balls catch me flat-footed. I move like a buffalo in a rice padi, thick hide bearing whiplashes that pour some pain, shame, yet I am too stupid to actually move. One foot in front of the other. Raving mad inside. Searching for satisfaction where it doesn't exist, making it up. All good denied so only pointlessness is left. I don't care enough anymore. It scares me, pains me because I want to care about what I do. I want to be a person who cares about what he does. I never imagined I would be who I am now. Shiftless. I suck. I get worse and worse at what I do and I can't bring myself, feet dragging, drugged, to do better. I want to and I don't want to. Most of the time, I just want to die. I am listless, vacant, let-down, letting down. I want to leave this place but fear what dreams may come. I am scared to stay and lose myself. Scared to run away. I will lose it all. My spirit, my desire to live, live as fully as I should unless I arrest this falling. Spent. I don't. I can't take one more day, week, year. Spent. I am finished, approaching an age, oh my God.

Energy levels are so low… I can’t seem to bring myself to wakefulness. It’s a bad day for it too, with classes till 4:30pm today. It’s exhausting enough putting on a chirpy front for a couple of hours, but god almighty, the whole damn afternoon?

Sweet angels, give me strength.

It's gonna be a long day. I've got only one class today, but I'm supposed to assist in a Batik workshop for some kids visiting from China, plus there's a Parent-Teacher Meeting this evening for the Year Ones. I haven't been to the gym all week; am seriously becoming self-conscious about my double chin. Definitely gonna have to hit the weights tomorrow to make myself feel better. I've started and stopped The God of Small Things, and started instead on Sebastian Barry's The Secret Scripture. Determined to see it through. Have also planned a movie marathon tomorrow- hopefully I'll be awake and alive enough to go for my workout and then sit in the dark from 10:30 till 19:20 or thereabouts. Phew. Gonna watch Changeling, Milk and Rachel Getting Married. Yes, the Oscars will soon be upon us. Real glad that Slumdog Millionaire stormed the Golden Globes. Good to see a film set in a recognizable Asia (Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon thus not counted) being recognized by the mainstream and wonderful to finally have perennial nominee Kate Winslet winning not one but TWO awards. Can't wait to catch Revolutionary Road. Loved the book, can only hope the movie is just as devastating.

Good morning. I am at my desk in school. It’s a quarter past nine and I’m having a coffee. Obviously I am not doing any work, as the existence of these lines can attest to. I am simply not in the mood. This “not in the mood to work” mood was one of the biggest contributors to my nervous breakdown last year. I let it eat into my paranoia; let it become something bigger than it ought to have been. Not again. My feet feel as though they are trapped in concrete. Last year, I tried to reason with the unreasonable. Force myself out of what I thought was a funk. I’m having none of that this time. I have a lackadaisical attitude to my job, so there. I am often bored, so there. I’d much rather be asleep, so there. I admit everything. I confess to all of the above. And I am not doing any work and not feeling bad about it. I didn’t dare to stop moving last year even though every part of me begged myself to. I was on a express train to a crash inevitable. A goner without even knowing it. Until I was so far gone I was crying by the side of a busy road. Today, I’m in the mood again. Fuck it all. I shall emerge from it when it happens. Ladida. I’m perfectly happy being so fucking goddamn lazzzzzzzzy.

1 Jan 2009:

1. Kick ass at work. Enough is enough. I am brilliant, but I've been inconsistent thus far. There is no reason for me not to take down 'em rockets in flight at will. Enough is enough. I'm keeping my head in the game now. I'm so tired of seeing minions ranked above me who have no right to be in this, my order of the universe.

2. Create. I am an artist. I answer to no one, I listen to no one but hear the shuffling of quick steps in my mind. These years of self-imposed exile has served incubation enough for my potential to truly transform into a genuine phenomenon. I am no longer the precocious young genius, I start with nothing again. Except my exceptional hands, my beautiful mind. I will make things, and they will be great.

3. Stay sane. No more crashes. I am ripped asunder by hurricanes. I no longer control my body entirely. I must be more aware, more alert, to make sure the madness does not pounce on me again. I will not be afraid. Fear does not become me. Go for the lines, hit with enough topspin for margin of error. Blast 'em cannonball.

31 Dec 2009