7:45 A.M. 27th Feb, ’15
I don’t wake up, my sleep doused eyes just open. I check on my tablet involuntarily and see a few emails and messages on the notification bar. I switch on my phone and keep it back, then close my eyes again.
I feed the Guinea pigs with some fresh leaves and grass from the backyard garden. They squeal and run, then eventually sniff and eat hurriedly. I laugh as they do, they always are in a hurry and they always eat like a pig so there’s no surprise that that’s what their English last name is. But looking at them I always feel a sort of weird energy, there are different emotions all at once and I feel inhuman; I believed I couldn’t actually feel everything at once, all the “right”s and “wrong”s, the “yes”s and “no”s…
I sit with my laptop, figuring what to blog next. Sometimes my mind goes in a sort of amnesiac state where I don’t remember what I had planned to work on the day before, let alone remember what I ate last night. I am listening to Please Don’t Go by Barcelona and it brings back my past in pieces of memory. I think of all the times that I have spent alone, all the times I have imagined someone sitting next to me, watching as I laugh or sob, or stare into the stars at night. Of all the times that I have felt insecure that someone who might actually be for me, might never meet me, worst even, would never want to know me. Ah, I have my moments of being dramatic!
I skip my lunch yet again but I can’t be any less bothered. I work on the story that I had in the back logs of my laptop for over a year now and I feel that it’s finally time to publish it. I upload the first chapter of Stockholm Syndorme on my wattpad profile, and feel happy when I get reads within a mintue of publishing it. I guess we writers are hungry this way, as much as we say we write for ourselves, the truth is that we write it for the reader. We write something to free ourself from it and send it across so it can find a new home in someone else’s heart.
My brother and I get in discussion where we talk about Flower of Life to planets, to Justin Beiber. For his age (15), I feel he’s way too mature and somewhere as he talks, I feel myself being reflected in his words. While he is genuienly talking about atoms, I am trying to distract him by talking about snots and hairy legs. I’m quite the mature one, don’t you say it!
I go through all the emails for the last time today which keep on pouring in. I finish writing this piece and play the song I was listening in the morning again. Today was productive in quite a few ways, from writing and blog offers. I’m ready for the weekend with a scary enthusiasm.
Get these left handed lovers out of your way
They look hopeful but you, you should not stay
-Please don’t go by Barcelona