Don’t try to make life a mathematics problem with yourself in the center and everything coming out equal.
—Anatole
Sometimes it feels like I’m being punished for a crime I never committed.
But sometimes, you go all in, you lose on the river, and you just don’t feel like playing anymore.
August passed me by.
My Tai Chi studio closed at the beginning of the month due to the new provincial tax policy. I was going to look for another studio, but I haven’t had a chance. Instead, I took up singing lessons. It didn’t help that Starcraft 2 came out, and the fact that most of my friends purchased it too so there’s always at least one person online and ready to play with me.
I had been waiting for the right one to come along my whole life. My mistake was thinking she was waiting for me too.
It’s been a particularly trying week. I’ve been feeling so jaded. Broken. Helpless. Undefined.
Both the cause and the consequence is that I’ve been sleeping terribly lately. Next week I’m going to try to have a more self-control and stay on a strict schedule. Bring some order into my life.
I tried to make an appointment with my therapist, since I have $300 mental health coverage with my work per calendar year (although this only amounts to two sessions). Unfortunately, I need a referral from my family doctor to claim the coverage, because referrals are only good for one year, and it’s been that long since I saw him.
I think of how judgmental my dad was when I told him I was seeing a psychologist. But then I realize that he’s probably the only person I feel like I can really talk to right now (my therapist, not my dad). I wish I could talk to my friends, but my thoughts are either too embarrassing to admit to them, or too complicated for them to understand.
I’ve been listening to some quiet, sombre stuff lately. Trying to acquire a taste for Leonard Cohen’s middle years, when he traded in his guitar for horns and violins, even some Depeche Mode. Depeche Fucking Mode. It hasn’t been helping.
I just don’t know what to do with myself lately. But I’m pretty sure I really need to cry right now.
Hi, and welcome back to another episode of “Télévision Educative”. Tonight, I’ll show you how dreams are prepared. People think it’s a very simple and easy process but it’s a bit more complicated than that. As you can see, a very delicate combination of complex ingredients is the key. First, we put in some random thoughts. And then, we add a little bit of reminiscences of the day…mixed with some memories from the past.
I slept through the night. This means I’m either exhausted or complacent. I’m not sure if I want complacent because it probably means I’m resigned.
Resignation is so depressing. At the same time, it’s a certainty that brings comfort, the same way hope is both torturous and inspiring.
“And working is the best remedy, then? Keeps your brain busy.”
“How can you work? Love is too powerful. You can’t concentrate.”
I’ve been working the last two weekends, trying to catch up on time I lost while I was away. I really couldn’t afford to take so much leave from work without pay, and there are deadlines for projects I’ve taken up on the side.
This weekend was especially productive. I got a lot done, but there’s so much more to go. It seems like there’s never enough time, so I just keep my head down and work through it.
I haven’t had much a break since I’ve been back. So this is my break. The written word.
Feels like I’m sleepwalking, lucid, unsure of what’s real or what I’m feeling. This morning I asked myself, “Have I really woken up yet?”
I’ve come to realize that I cling to pain and yearning because they give me inspiration. They may not be the sole source, but certainly a great deal. I always listen to Leonard Cohen and Elliot Smith during such moods, as they have the ability to intensify and deepen the sadness.
I can tell it’s something of a destructive habit. It’s almost like I subconsciously choose to dwell on things that have been resolved for the sake of something to write about.
It makes me think of the last lines from King Missile’s song Ed:
“Yes, this is the answer. This is the ending. I shall keep on running, because a body in motion tends to stay emotional, and it’s better to feel. Pain is better than emptiness, emptiness is better than nothing, and nothing is better than this.”
Is this how I feel alive, a way of bringing significance to my life? Or is this the way I truly feel, and I’m simply a slow healer, and too much of a thinker?
Or perhaps the better question is this: does happiness inspire me just as much?
My room is a mess, a side-effect of my busy schedule. I should be cleaning. Hell, I should be sleeping, but I’d rather write instead, seeing as how I haven’t had a chance in four days. It would appear as if I’m going through some sort of expression withdrawal.
Vincent Gallo practically wrote this entry for me.
I had When by Vincent Gallo playing here.
(If you’re going to listen to this song, turn the lights down, or at least close your eyes. Remove yourself of any ambient noise. Breathe slowly for 30 seconds before playing it. This song deserves it. You deserve it.)
Even though it went up to 28°C today, the morning started cold and calm. There was so much moisture in the air that one could taste the grey.
It made me strangely stoic when I left the house. Something about the whether that reminded me of how comforting it can be to feel sad. It’s as if the earth had decided to compliment my mood with cloud cover. I can’t even explain the cause of my sadness, and can only guess that realization and acceptance are setting in. The only saving grace is that I feel confident enough to pick myself up and move on. Not that I want to do it alone right now. Wish I had the option.
As the day dragged on, things started to wear me down. Exhaustion dried my eyes. I kept trying to pick myself up, kept trying to hide my sighing sadness from those around me, to no avail.
Wish I had a smile in my wardrobe for days like this.
I’m in a bad way
My sleeping schedule is upside down. I’m lovesick. I’m heartbroken. I can’t eat anything without shitting blood. My lips are chapped. My teeth keep grazing my canker sore. I’m breaking out. I’m dreading another day of work.
But I’d still rather be alone, than be with you.
Crank it. Loud, and maybe you’ll understand how I feel.
I’ve been in such a slump the last week. Maybe I’m over-worked, over-tired, and over-stressed. Things haven’t been going my way.
It’s filled me with such frustration, sadness, and anger.
Now I’m left to face the ugly world alone, and all I can think is to never put your trust in someone. Never be dependent, never expect anything from anyone because you’ll only get hurt.
I try to rationalize everything and follow the Tao, but I can’t. Everything is so overwhelming.
As much as I’ve learned, as much wisdom as I’ve gained, as far as I’ve come, I’m still human.
This used to be my favourite season.
I don’t even know why. Christmas was always about tedious gatherings. Each parental group of friends and family — consisting only of Chinese people — would take turns hosting parties. As one of the “kids”, I was thrust in a room with the other sons and daughters. People I only saw once a year, with whom I had nothing in common. Some years, I’d go to six different houses in two weeks.
My parents would always host New Year’s. Some time ago, with the money I earned from my first job, I bought them a classy fondue set and fondue book for them to use as hosts. They never opened the box, or even cracked the spine of the book. It broke my heart.
Monetary certificates. Sweaters. Cheap stationary. Nothing personalized. Nothing from the heart. Nothing I ever needed or wanted. It was merely a display of how little people knew or cared about me. It would have meant more if they gave the money to charity.
The one reprieve during the holidays was being able to see Darren, sneaking out in the middle of a party to get stoned with him, or hanging out with John.
Then why did the holidays mean so much to me?
Maybe it was the atmosphere. The snow. The memories of Christmas in Hong Kong. The fact that people who had nothing in common would put up Christmas lights. Something that everyone believed in.
Even though I’ve received some beautiful, thoughtful gifts for once, even though I don’t really celebrate Christmas, I’m down. It’s too warm for the snow to stay. I didn’t buy presents for anyone. I’m working the short week between Christmas weekend and New Year’s weekend because I can’t afford any time off.
I suppose the holidays are what you make of them.
There have been many generous people — Louise, John, Aaron, Joel, Bronwen, Pat — who opened their houses to me today, but it’s not the same.
To feel like I was part of something, part of a family, as dysfunctional as it was. Because of the divorce, there’s no home to go to for the first time in my life.
Christmas is dead this year, but it’s only a reflection of how dead I feel inside.