I know I am lying to myself every time I say I need coffee. Every time I say I need it to keep me awake or to help me think. In reality, although I cannot be sure of that scientifically, it does little because I can fall asleep even after a cup. But since it makes me feel better, I let myself believe in that lie. I kept believing it until sometimes it is almost my truth.
Recently I’ve been taking stronger coffee. For one, 3 in 1 is not available here anymore, and I believe I need it.
The amount of work I do, doubled by the end of April, and even though I believe that we have to make time for things we do, I just physically couldn’t. There were times that I wanted to write, but my brain couldn’t cope up anymore, and my body proceeds to the bed on its own.
In April, my writing productivity was so high that I had scheduled all my blogposts until the second week of May, and from then on, everything went downhill.
I haven’t written a short story in two weeks, but at least I have this and another essay that might or might not see the light of the day.
Sometimes I get so exhausted, but I couldn’t get to sleep, I’d switch to reading and watching.
I’ve read the last two books of the Cemetery of Forgotten Books series: The Prisoner of Heaven and The Labyrinth of Spirits.
There’s something about those four books that draws me into it. The more I read, the more the story sinks into my skin, making me feel part of it. It’s like a novel about the past life I think I had. I wouldn’t want to let go of it. I didn’t want to read another book as of yet. I want to savor it until that certain unexplainable feeling subsides.
I’ve watched The Call (Korean), Rise of the Legend (Chinese), Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon (Chinese), and Bleach (Japanese). Notice any similarities?
I’ve been recently watching some clips on youtube about Murder and Crime. It’s interesting to see how far people can go. How psychos blatantly admit to their crimes and how others lie and pretend they are mentally ill to escape their penalty. It’s fascinating to learn human nature.
Recently, I’ve been having this weird feeling of being in between inspired and uninspired, between wanting to do things yet having some reservations about it.
I have many things in mind that I wanted to do, yet there’s so little time, and I keep running out of energy. I already live on an island, but I still dream of a faraway place where I’d sit in front of my porch overlooking the sea, drinking coffee while reading or writing.
I think I am getting high with the island fever, and I need to get out soon.
I hope you are all well this time.
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