WW43: Still In Limbo

Everyday feels like Monday Blues.  I've been reading Paulo Coelho and hitting up Google to find something that could inspire me again. I have too much things to do and too much things in my mind but I have not completed anything. I wanna rant about all things. But every morning while walking to office, I make sure to pray to God with gratitude. Ironic, but yes. I feel my life is going nowhere. And it's not exaggeration.

As early as today, I could feel Christmas air. I'm ecstatic. But still purposeless. Quarter life goes on and on. I wish it ends soon.

Monday Blues

Last 2 weeks of Sept will be jam-packed. It's a thing to look forward to. But airplanes and foreign lands and 3-night trips don't bring exhilaration anymore like it did a few years back. It used to be awesome *shit. The last plane ride felt like a mere routine of sitting my ass down. And while I'm ramping up to the important but not urgent, it's painfully, if not *fucking, steep. And self-helpers aren't helping. I'd always unfollow without thinking! I filter what goes into my head. Unless it's Coelho tweeting, I'd find myself relating, like the most recent, "Life is like cooking: before choosing what you love, try everything." Or this apocalyptic, skeptic, Mr. Holter's, "If you think adventure is dangerous, try routine, it's lethal."

Sounding ungrateful is my least intent. But I can't help it. In a word or three, I need challenge, as a mask to I am bored. Heh.

I probably really need Asia's Machu Picchu to refresh me.

*Denotes INTENSITY.

#QuarterLife #AndNoIDon'tDon'tHaveALovelife #AndNoIAmNotNotBusy

40 Degrees and Giving Myself A Break

For as long as I could remember and cared, it was the first time I hit up 40 degrees. To me that meant panic. I did self-medication rigorously taking Panadol, 500mg every 4 hours for 24 hours in hopes to make me feel better. Paracetamol failed me.

I finally had decided to take a walk to the clinic yesterday. 40 degrees and nauseating. Throwing up? That wasn't normal. I felt like I was about to collapse. If I could, I have hurried back to the doctor, grab his collar, tell him I was feeling horrible, and demand him to do something. I emptied an empty stomach right where I sat in the waiting line. Dirtied my mouth and hands and the small plastic with bitter Panadol-flavored saliva and probably intestinal fluids. I know it was disgusting. But I perspired and felt better after.

After my first intake of antibiotics, stronger dose than the previous 625mg prescribed to me last week, it was the first time in the longest time that I appreciate being well again. It was the first time that I appreciate prescriptions from physicians again - if I ever did appreciate that. And it was the first time that I appreciate someone actually taking care of me.

In 4 nights, I am relocating. Again. After a meager quarter. A lot of things have changed in a couple of months. My summer mess and madness was well, mess and madness. But I have to make a decision for myself now. Bestfriend may be right this time, give myself a break and stop swaying away attention. And maybe I did realize now that I also need to be taken cared of just as much as I am willing to give all my care.

Eat. Pray. Love. Or Maybe Not.

Not that I was moved by the film. In fact I find it, okaaay. So-so. I did love the idea of solo backpacks though. Food, language, strangers, the city, the suburbs, the culture, basically travel, all of those wrapped into one.

I am NOT unhappy like her. I am UNBEARABLY bored. And I want solo backpacks - not to find myself, BUT to get lost.

Unlike Liz, NO, I do not yearn to break free from the shackles of marriage, or for my case, relationship. Insane, but it's my partner who prods me to do so. Break free, try everything I want to do, get something as crazy as meaningless *** - IF I wish to. All I have to do, just let my sweet little are-you-fuckin-out-of-your-mind! bastard know.

This must be quarter-life.