3 posts from February 2008

Sometimes i'm appalled by just how lethargic and lifeless i've become at the office. At first i thought it was the whole man/mom/dad thing. But i'm more or less getting my head around all that now, and i'm still an absolute mess at work. I don't know where the cool, focused, in control me is anymore. Maybe i've just lost the joy in working here. Maybe the humongous fiasco in January took it all out of me. But i refuse to believe i can't recover from that blow. I'm good at that - i get hit, i catch my breath, i crawl back up again, and i'm stronger for it. Not once have i not made it back in better shape than i was before. So that's PROBABLY not it.

I think i just need to find something to focus on. Since work is not it, there has to be something else. It's not going to be another boy at this moment either, so it's gotta be like, an activity or something. Something to occupy my mind. I want to either take up a language, or yoga, or dance. Ballroom or salsa. These might all be temporary measures. But stopgap is better than no stopgap, isn't it? When you have a gaping wound, the first concern must be to stop the blood from gushing out wot? Makes perfect sense to me.

Right then. Stopgap it is. I'm so glad i rationalised that so easy.

You know i do remember a time when i was perfectly happy to go home early, to watch TV, or just hang out with myself. I remember telling myself i had to sleep by midnight, so as to rest and not grow old so quickly, and maintain some health. I remember enjoying that time at home that i had to myself. Somehow i can't remember it anymore. Along the way i've forgotten how to enjoy my own company. I need to find that again.

Ok. It starts today.

Or maybe next week. After my mom goes back to Vietnam.

Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.

Whoever said that, didn't know jack. No, not jack the person. Jack the general term used to describe nothing. And it never fails to surprise me how the most hurtful things on earth can come from the mouths of your parents. No, not your parents. My parents. When your mom says she wishes she were childless (no not your mom, my mom), all because she smells alcohol on your breath (no not your breath, my breath) and thinks you're a raging alcoholic and a massive disappointment...

Um.

I'll have the sticks and stones please.