SEPTEMBER 14, 2004 (TUESDAY)
Although I will most probably finish writing this on the 15th already.
I want my proverbial weekend already.
Of course, that looks like it isn't going to happen anytime soon. Not that I mind, really, because I like having something to fill my hours with - whether it's walking down Katipunan past midnight looking for a cab, or sitting down in front of the computer to force myself to write, or listening to my French instructor describe the difference between an American apple pie and a French apple pie. (I like it that we're learning about food in French class already - best part of the course, I tell you.) And I like thet fact that my world gets filled up pretty fast, and that I am getting all the attention I like - yes, I love attention - but sometimes at the end of the day, I just want someone to hug me tight and tell me that everything's all right and that I can rest now. I just want someone I can come home to.
Of course, it's nice to have other things to fill up my time - no more angst, save for those occassional moments when slipping is so much easier than hanging on, and I have no more energy to fight that instinct to sink into that mire of confusing emotions that I've always tried to ignore. I told my friend Arvin the other day that we'll survive this, that we'll get through these times when numbness is an escape hatch. It's getting easier and easier to play this game of Let's Pretend - I'm just afraid that there will come a time that I won't be able to tell the difference between the truth and the game I'm playing with myself.
So I might as well remind myself of the good things in my life: I still have a house to go home to, and parents who support me financially and emotionally and allows me to be moody and cranky at home; siblings who hug me good night and let me use the computer until the wee hours of the morning; a myriad of friends that I can spend hours of meaningless conversation and exchange bad metaphors with.
I have a career (of sorts) that allows me a semblance of financial independence as well as nice additions to my resume; writing habits that might not be the best in the world, but is still enough to make me seem disciplined and professional; people in the business who can guide me through the murky world of "reality."
I've had two free dinners this week already, and another invitation for this weekend; I belong to an organization that I love very much; I work with people who are dedicated and intelligent and lovable, and I trust them very much with the tasks I give them; all the coffee I can drink flowing through my blood stream; a desire to do everything that is in my power right now to help my friends.
I have good music on my CD player (thanks to Dell) and a good working relationship with the people I deal with on a professional level - publishers and editors and suchlike - that will hopefully not jeopardize my career in the future; I have adventures and mis-adventures and I can walk for long distances now in my boots; I can still wear skirts and not be ashamed of my legs.
I have my craft and my friends and my family and my life which is going upwards and I should not complain whenever there's this empty feeling in my chest and I'm wondering if there's anything in the world that can fill it up completely.
Because I don't want to grow old lonely. And I cannot accept the idea that in the end, we are all alone in our misery. Because I refuse to be miserable.