“When we free ourselves of desire, we will know serenity and freedom.” -Gautama Buddha
It’s that time of the year again, where I’ve realised I haven’t updated the blog in months, where I come up with a sorry excuse of a topic to make up for it, and where I wonder if writing is really what I want to be doing in life.
There are only so many times I can write about procrastination, and that kinda sucks, seeing as to how little I have to write about anymore.
I tend to watch the days pass without doing anything, out of nothing but the sheer desire to not do anything. Public holidays would come and go, and it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for me to come out of long weekends achieving fuck all.
Friends have recommended I schedule a mental checkup, but I think I’m more lazy than depressed. After seeing some of the things people go through, I’d say I’m pretty mentally sound, as far as I’m concerned.
Photo credit: Rolands Lakis
Via Daily Prompt: Festive
There’s a weird relationship between happy tunes and horror movies; the twinkling of a baby mobile, or tunes from a theme park. You don’t get the same chill from, say, dubstep or emo rock.
The advertisement jingles in supermarkets are right up the horror-movie aisle (heh). How could anybody be happy about a ten percent discount off a two-dollar item? My heart goes out to the staff every time I shop in a supermarket that repeats music and the month’s current offers.
Today, I find myself at the hypermarket deciding on a door gift for a new year’s party. Should I go for the wine, or the snacks? I visualise a wine snob at the party—and it’s a real possibility because I don’t know anyone there—frowning at my ten-dollar bottle of wine. But ten-dollar wine is classier than twenty-dollar bags of Lays, surely?
If you could quantify emotions on a scale of one to ten, I’d be a solid three, and that figure’s never budged as far as I remember. If you attached an emotional Geiger counter on my hip, you’d only hear silence for days, save for the spikes when I’d have to make small talk with an unfamiliar acquaintance or make a phone call.
Photo credit: Jeff Bush
“Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.” -Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Your alarm clock rings, and you forget how many times you’ve hit the snooze button today. It doesn’t matter because the clock says 7:20. That’s five snoozes, plus you’re twenty minutes late.