i have become lazy to document my thoughts.
i have found the easy verbal discussions as an excuse to keep the intercourse between my pen and paper - a most awaited experience - on abated breath. they have missed each other, i should think.
in the lethargy of each day's routine tasks, thoughts masquerading themselves as deep and analytical have clouded my mind.
reality mixes with dream, with fantasy, with wants and needs. they are sometimes surreal and i wake up thinking, "did it really happen?" did i hear that strange trickle of water the other night and did jasmine really tell me there were ghosts in the house.
new year! 2006. no real achievements except a feeble attempt at getting from point A to point B using a motor vehicle, often called in lay man's term as driving. feeble indeed for fear clutches my heart when i hold the steering wheel. afraid of what? of hitting people, of hitting cars, of backing up while in hanging positions.
NO COURAGE. yet i say to my friends to take courage. am i a hypocrite? or do i want to have it myself? am i living on their courage?
where have i gone? where has this pen been? where have my thoughts and goals gone? i've become moss on stone. i have not rolled lately.
i think of being with someone, but in equal measure, i enjoy the complexity of my own mind. i don't need another to make it a jigsaw puzzle. "so what does this and that mean?" throwing myself in an endless guessing game of another's feelings, mind, insides.
i am shy yet aggressive - an irony in myself. a complex mix of myself. who will understand?
i write to echo these random thoughts. hiatus is ambiguous. restless yet no concrete actions.
i have become lazy and my thoughts whirl without being incarnated on paper. my stories die before they are born. stillborn ideas, a mental endometriosis.