Sleeplessly procrastinating and frantically passive

I feel so tired. I have two projects to submit on Tuesday. One's a draft for my thesis paper and the other's a draft for an interactive game. So far I have done absolutely nothing. Not a single word typed or a single pixel drawn. I lack sleep. It's moments like this that I want to give up already. I don't know what to do. The computer crashed a few days ago. The hard drive was fixed but all my files are gone, every single byte wiped out. It's really such a defeating emotion.

At least I have a new guilty pleasure but I'm afraid it's taking its toll on my time. I'm too lazy to get my ass out of this chair and actually do something about my project woes.  I'm just too glued, reading this blog. It's like Irvine Welsh meets Lord of the Flies. Very raw and strong characters and emotions bouncing of violently everywhere. It started as a sex fantasy that grew into this epic story about real estate corporations caught between two star crossed lovers from a quaint town in Iloilo. I'm still half-way through the story. It's campy and it's dark but somehow, still, the writer manages to inject valid and feasible human emotions and instincts, which never fails to reel me in deeper into his world. One of the networks here should really take a page from this piece of fiction for their soap operas.

I feel like I'm back there again in my condo in 2434, when I'd be too depressed to get out of bed. No matter how hungry I am or how bad I need to go to the toilet, I'd just lie there in my bed, not sleeping, not really physically immobile but just too unmoved, emotionally unmotivated to move even a single muscle, my brain compensating for the lack of any physical activity. I would stare at my blank white ceiling and move my gaze around the white walls for hours, sometimes lasting almost a whole day. It used to feel like an asylum because it was a huge white space but I painted one wall vermilion just to add a little depth and spirit to the whole place.

Now I'm here. Sitting in front of the computer. Completely unmoved from my seat ever since this morning. Save for my the mechanical wrist motions to maneuver the mouse, and fingers clicking on buttons and keys, and my two visits to the kitchen because the maid kept bugging me to eat, I'd have zero muscle movement.

It's a wild world

It's the series that makes Gossip Girl look like Sweet Valley with contrived connivances. It's British. It has some of the most breathtaking, lavishly languid photography I have every seen since Wong Kar-wai teamed up with Christopher Doyle. It has a tastefully rockin' and eclectic soundtrack each episode and lots of cleverly written scenes. It has such tragically beautiful characters like a delusional anorexic slut, a desperate trampy girlfriend and a confused teenage Pakistani. It's honest, unapologetically funny and spot on. No series has ever captured contemporary chemically driven teenage angst like this series has. It's like a hazy trip down memory lane.

It's the series almost everyone I know has mentioned at least once since last year but only a few have seen. And because I was finally compelled by a bootlegged copy I fatefully ran into a few days ago, and yesterday was a such a painfully boring hot day, I lit a joint and spent the whole afternoon and evening with the first season.

I gotta say, anything that can reinvent an old song and put new deeper images to each syllable is a winner in my book. So for now I'll let Cat Stevens linger in my auditory memory and pinch me over and over.

You know what bothers me

Sometimes, in my deepest moments of arrogance, I like to pretend that I am, in the sheer audacity of my narrow-mindedness, one beyond my years. But then stuff like having HIV and knowing actual people who have turned tricks for drugs, and still being in college under a three year program at the age of 23 reminds me how categorically stupid and incredibly naïve I still am. What really bothers me, though, is that despite all these things, I still crave for a life of aimless drug abuse and sexual promiscuity. The mere thought of it sends hundreds upon hundreds of volts across my whole system. After fighting myself, tooth and nail, for this organized productive and moderately successful collegiate life that I am close to finishing, the life I used to have then is all I feel that can really make me happy still.

I am hesitation

I am that soft comforting voice in your head that tells you, you don't need to do a save when you're writing a one page paper. Because why else would you need a save for, when you're going to print it a few minutes later anyway? So you agree and continue typing and then seconds later, there's a brief power interruption and your computer restarts. Then you remember something every single professor you've had in every single computer involved subjects reminds the class: always save your file because you never know when there's going to be a power interruption.

I am that person in front of the mirror when you stare at it with a long-sleeve you just put on, wondering if you should wear it with the outfit. Then I'll tell you it's better if you took it off because less is more. Later in the day, I'll tell you, you should've worn it after all because you look too shabbily plain.

I tell you that that guy is probably only saying it because it gets him off more when he says "I love you" and he'll probably be screwing someone else a few days later or worse, you're the one he's screwing a few days later he said the same thing to another guy.

I am that electricity in your finger that stops you from typing "I miss you" to a message you're going to send to that guy. The same words he sends you two messages later.

I am that nagging voice in your head that comforts you by saying you haven't gotten jaded. You've just learned to patiently wait and accept whatever thing comes your way with temperance.

Banters and schemes

Oh the games we play

To keep ourselves

Entertained

We taunt danger

We tease shame

Just to not feel

Mundane