This is it
The last few weeks had been passed in hazy unproductivity. My weekends had consisted of mellow outings with good friends while my weeknights had been spent chatting or watching CSI.
I'd like to think that it's the commute to work that's finally taking its toll on me, seeing that between the hr that I get home (which is around 6 to 7) to my bed time (around 10 to 11) is only a short four hours (minus the dinner and other small chores, I have but a few hours to myself on weekdays), but I know better than that.
Time is passing by in extremely high speed. Two weekends of no accomplished goals is half a month wasted. One month is a quarter of one work term and procrastination is about half.
I procrastinate. Every goal is earmarked by series of unrelated events. My goal to start the GRE was set to be done during my second work term, and as it dawns upon me, it became postponed until after Michael gets here. When I decided to cut him completely out of my life two weeks ago (or has it been longer?), it became postoned to after my trip to DC.
Each week is passed in anticipation of the next. I look forward to things that are meaningless. I look forward to the sun coming out. I promised myself I'll be more productive when it happens. It's been raining for a week, and it might rain for another.
I feel like I'm always waiting, always hoping, for another day, a better day.
I keep telling myself to have faith, to believe.
Don't be upset, the next one will be better.
The problem with anticipating for nothing concrete though, is that you will always be disappointed.
In truth, I acquiesce solitude. I have never been in a relationship without decrying its confinements. Always looking for alone time, always wishing for seclusion. Yet there is no denial that the best times of my life have always been the times when I was emotionally committed. I like the feeling of knowing that I have someone to confide in, to give support, to fall safely in the arms of at any given moment, even if I never end up falling back on it.
Relationships are best in the background of my life, you're nothing without it, but it never interrupts the main events.
Independence, whether physically or emotionally, had always been my gift. I have low tolerance for emotionally needy individuals. I can't stand pointless chit chat, meaningless relations. I'd rather sit alone in silence than be surrounded by superficial companionship.
But somewhere deep down inside me, I am filled with emotion and energy.
Perhaps this is what I've been waiting for, the right person to relinquish my vitality.
I miss the warmth, the affection, the comfort. I miss jumping into someone's arms, planting kisses all over his face, laughing and telling him how much I love him, and truly mean it deep down inside. I miss that sense of fulfillment when you wake up in each other's arms in the middle of the night and you think to yourself, "this is it. this is it. i wish this moment will never end."
I'd like to think that it's the commute to work that's finally taking its toll on me, seeing that between the hr that I get home (which is around 6 to 7) to my bed time (around 10 to 11) is only a short four hours (minus the dinner and other small chores, I have but a few hours to myself on weekdays), but I know better than that.
Time is passing by in extremely high speed. Two weekends of no accomplished goals is half a month wasted. One month is a quarter of one work term and procrastination is about half.
I procrastinate. Every goal is earmarked by series of unrelated events. My goal to start the GRE was set to be done during my second work term, and as it dawns upon me, it became postponed until after Michael gets here. When I decided to cut him completely out of my life two weeks ago (or has it been longer?), it became postoned to after my trip to DC.
Each week is passed in anticipation of the next. I look forward to things that are meaningless. I look forward to the sun coming out. I promised myself I'll be more productive when it happens. It's been raining for a week, and it might rain for another.
I feel like I'm always waiting, always hoping, for another day, a better day.
I keep telling myself to have faith, to believe.
Don't be upset, the next one will be better.
The problem with anticipating for nothing concrete though, is that you will always be disappointed.
In truth, I acquiesce solitude. I have never been in a relationship without decrying its confinements. Always looking for alone time, always wishing for seclusion. Yet there is no denial that the best times of my life have always been the times when I was emotionally committed. I like the feeling of knowing that I have someone to confide in, to give support, to fall safely in the arms of at any given moment, even if I never end up falling back on it.
Relationships are best in the background of my life, you're nothing without it, but it never interrupts the main events.
Independence, whether physically or emotionally, had always been my gift. I have low tolerance for emotionally needy individuals. I can't stand pointless chit chat, meaningless relations. I'd rather sit alone in silence than be surrounded by superficial companionship.
But somewhere deep down inside me, I am filled with emotion and energy.
Perhaps this is what I've been waiting for, the right person to relinquish my vitality.
I miss the warmth, the affection, the comfort. I miss jumping into someone's arms, planting kisses all over his face, laughing and telling him how much I love him, and truly mean it deep down inside. I miss that sense of fulfillment when you wake up in each other's arms in the middle of the night and you think to yourself, "this is it. this is it. i wish this moment will never end."