my life, plagiarized

2000-05-01

i woke up with a jolt. feeling slightly disoriented, i kept my eyes closed, lying and having a feel of familiarity of my sorroundings. my senses confirmed that yeah, i'm still alive. i took a shallow breath and throes of emptiness rushed me like tsunami trying to engulf a hapless chilean islet.

the painful gap of immobility made me realize the full impact of what peter conrad wrote in "where i fell to earth" that goes:

"every morning starts with a moment of truth, an instant of terror. you can't remember who you are supposed to be, and therefore can't separate left-over dreams from reality. a life waits to be resumed. the empty clothes on the back of the chairs tell you that. but whose life is it, how did it get to the point where it was broken off yesterday, and does the muddle of sensations in bed, gradually cohering into a person, fit whatever fragment of world might be outside the window?

"later, there will be a stranger in the mirror, behind whose face you can retire another day; first--never quite sure what i will find, as if going back to the mystified beginning--i pull the curtains open and look out. what i see should tell me who or perhaps only where, i am."

my sentiments fully captured, dagummit.

staggering out of bed i realized that today is a holiday [may 1, labor day] and that i have another day to spend on whatever whim i can think of. i took a shower and had a late breakfast that improved my moods slightly. i listened to sting's 'brand new day' cd and read a new book, but the void-like sensations prevented me from being totally engrossed so i quit. i picked up the charcoal pencil and the sketch pad littering my work table and furiously scribbled lines that even jackson pollock would regard as a big joke. feeling frustrated, i hurled myself into bed and stayed immobile, staring at the ceiling and waited for the end of the world to happen.

naturally, the universe is least cooperative when you really wanted thing to happen, daggumit!

i mulled over the possibility of going to the malls to wander aimlessly but decided against it; more out of fear of bumping into someone i know of, and the thought of ending up with an invitation somewhere else that would probably drive me catatonic with boredom filled me with dread. yeah i am bored to within every bloody inch of my skull, but i rationalized that i'd rather be bored alone than be bored in the company of hellish people. at least i won't be rude if i'm bored alone and take a nap.

i dragged myself out of bed and checked my emails, wading through recycled jokes, chain mails, and offers of total hormonal satisfaction from the bleeding pornsites that have this annoying habit of spamming. i was greeted by an email from joan [hey thanks, that sure did lit me up a bit :)].

after checking all my inboxes i went online on irc [to check if anyone i know was on]. i read a poem i recently wrote at the poetry channel and endured the flaunting display of so-called brilliance by this writer whose works she believed to be the VERY defination of contemporary poetry. big ego, lousy work. sheesh.

last night i had an odd dream. i was sucked by a magnetic portal into a wishland inhabited by fairies and such. then one of them asked me to tell her of my graetest wish and if am honest enough it would be granted.

looking at her straight in the eyes, i opened my mouth to begin blurting out my fondest wish but before i can get to the core of it some hideous monsters invaded wishland. everyone dispersed into different directions.

including me who woke up trembling and yelling and flailing and kicking the pillows damn straight to the floor.

i got another email from a diaryland reader. it's comforting to know that the universe hasn't dished depression exclusively into my front door. since she failed to include her diary's url i decided to post her email here verbatim:

"I have «fallen in love» in love with your diary *s*. I am not a scary sort of person, so just you relax. It is just absolutely fabulous. I wrote a long «entry» about your diary in my own private hand written diary (not the one online). Trying to analyse you. But still I am left with so many questions about you. From what you are writing you don’t seem manic depressive - just depressed. There is a big difference. Have you got that «label» from a doctor? I have periods of depression myself.I can’t say «I know how you feel», though, isn’t each depression different from another? I hope you never stop up - dating *smile* - since you have made me so addicted to your diary.

sweet of her to remind me that, isnt it? :)