Friday, February 01, 2013

WARNING: Here Be Angst

Disclaimer: Lots of swear words. And rambling. It's not pretty. Turn away now, if you know what's good for you.


For fuck's sake, you'd think that being told by society that you're an adult might entitle you to some semblance of actually knowing where your life is going. But when it's a Friday night and you're the only one at home and you've probably gone through all the decent-length fanfics in your fandom in a desperate bid to avoid any kind of work, and your lungs are still recovering from the crazy-ass fuckfest that it went through the last couple of days and you've probably downed enough cough syrup to send an elephant to sleep, then it's just pathetic. And I am the queen of pathetic.

Here's the thing: the last two days have probably been the only time since the year began that I've been able to breathe, and by breathe, I mean that I can sleep for longer than five hours and not have to juggle three or four deadlines because they're, well, deadlines and sometimes I just wish there was someone else who would go, "Okay, you gotta stop it with the crazy work schedule because you're going to get sick or blow a kidney or your brains out," and then actually pull my hands away from my computer keyboard and, oh, I don't know, force feed me something a lot healthier than cafeteria food because yes, I am terrible at taking care of myself (although I am awesome at taking care of other people. You can ask all my ex-boyfriends). But of course, I end up getting sick because I have no clue what limits are, because limits are for sissies and boundaries are for idiots.

Anyway, so the crappy thing about being forced by your own body (traitor) to take a break is that your brain starts moving away from things like checking papers and reading for school and writing for the million and one deadlines you're juggling and actually, like, focus on things. Like, trying to breathe without coughing up a lung, or stopping your brain from dribbling out of your nose. I finished two boxes of Kleenex yesterday, and the skin around my nose felt like it was being rubbed with sandpaper. But there's, like, an epiphany somewhere along the way, and I hate epiphanies because they fuck up your life. I want to just skim the surface a little bit more, like living on the surface of things and being busy and rushing around like a goddamn whirlwind because it's easier than actually, like, looking into your soul and thinking, for fuck's sake, why is there nothing inside?

I know I talk about being thankful a lot, and being grateful that my life is not the shit-clusterfuck that it was circa 2010-2011, but there's being thankful and there's being stagnant and sometimes -- like being forced to take sick days-sometimes -- I feel like I've just stopped. Like, I dug my heels into the ground and actually stopped.

And stopping isn't a bad thing, I know, I mean, Robert Frost said that it's great to stop by the woods sometimes, and to take the road less traveled by, etc. but there are also times when I'm just like, c'mon universe, can I just get on the fast-forward track as well? I look at my friends' lives, and dammit, comparing lives is like pulling teeth and I hate doing it but I can't help it because a teeny tiny part of me is competitive like that and sometimes I wish, "Oh I'd like that" or "I wish I could do that" or "Why not meeeeeeee, universe?" But then again, the universe is big and vast and if not anything else, all the sci-fi shows I've ever watched and been a fan of (and trust me, there's a lot of that buzzing in my brain) have taught me that I am just a speck of dust in a sea of infinite-ness, and if there was a time to insert a Perks of Being a Wallflower quote here, this would be the time.

Because sometimes I wonder, how would it be like to be content? Like, abso-fucking-lutely content and not wanting anything? But then, I also think, Jesus, how boring that would be and how mundane and really, isn't that why non-magical folks are called Muggles and non-Fables are called Mundys? I've always been a big believer of jumping into things and just following wherever they end up leading me -- I mean, that're pretty much been my M.O. since I decided to go to school in fucking Davao City, just because I wanted a UP degree.

But it's hard to get excited about things when you're stuck in a routine, and granted, it's a pretty fantastic routine -- I mean, this is way better than scrolling through Tumblr for five hours and answering emails from cranky people who do not, or cannot, understand simple English -- but it's a routine nonetheless and I knew that there would only be so much time before I start cracking. God, I am terrible at being bored, because I simply want to do all the things and I can feel the energy crawling underneath my skin and I just want to get out and do something and see things and if I had a car, I swear I'd be jumping in and driving all the way to Tagaytay and back, and possibly further and further away, until I run out of road, and listening to The Gaslight Anthem because it's awesome traveling music and just, I don't know, find something interesting.

I'm not saying I don't want to teach, because I do and I fucking love this job, okay, and I'd hang on to it like the way a honey badger hangs on to a cheetah and never lets go, because this is what I want to do. But I also want to do other things, because teaching is just one part of my life -- and yes, it's probably the most important part right now, but I don't want to look back ten, twenty years from now and live with regret, you know? Like, "I wish I did that" or "I wish I had the courage to [insert suggestion here]" and there are days when I go home by myself and it's just so frickin' lonely in my head and I wonder if there's something I'm missing.

And yes, I am aware that having a boyfriend might assuage that loneliness temporarily, but Jesus Christ on a pogo stick, out of the four years I spent with my last boyfriend, the last couple of years were the loneliest I've been, and isn't that the fucking irony of the situation, being lonely with the one person you're not supposed to be lonely with? But it's true, and that was probably what sucked out all the romantic aspirations in me. Because loneliness? Is not supposed to be a friend of mine. And yes, maybe it would be nice to have a default date to drag to things and places and whatever, and bare your soul to blah blah blah, but it's the 21st century and romance is dead and unless you're, like, Solenn Heussaff or something like that, nobody's really going to look at you twice, much less want to date you.

So maybe I'm messed up, just a bit. Just enough to crack the veneer of respectability and to make everyone back away slightly. But I don't want to apologize -- I'm stopping myself from apologizing -- because everyone's a little bit damaged somewhere, right? And I don't want to pretend that I'm not, that everything's all peachy-keen and that it's better to have loved and lost and all that claptrap, because really, there's a reason why I'm the only one at home on a Friday night and I'm eating pizza and watching Star Trek, and fuck, that's like, the cliches of cliches, but the sad part is that it's true. Boo.

So, hey, you, the person who clicked on this link despite the warning: don't judge, man. Please don't. If you were feeling lonely and fucked up and you wanted to watch some TV and eat some pizza and maybe play a board game or two (or Cards Against Humanity), then I won't judge you either. I might even join you.

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