wordplay

There is always something to chronicle when there's absolutely nothing going on in your life. You can ramble on about the mundanity of everyday existence, the lack of things to do, places to go, or people to talk to. The void of not being in a relationship or the nuance in belonging to one, the absence of time or money or energy to accomplish something - these are but a few of the subjects one can use as an excuse to fill up space with more nonsense, as if the world listens or notices. But it doesn't matter, it's just a release. Writing something down behind the anonymity of blogs fills this need of expressing yourself and being heard. It deceives you into believing that someone somewhere actually cares.

I've read and seen a lot of ways on how to cope up with building frustration, Paulo Coelho suggests that you write it down on paper then let it be swept away by the waves of the River Piedra. I can just imagine the tons of trash filling that site if all people follow his advice. Nicholas Sparks offers that throwing a letter inside an empty wine bottle to the vast ocean would do the trick, this could be a romantic way of finding true love and yet that's sacrilege to the marine ecosystem. Wong Kar Wai proposes finding a tree with a big hole and shouting all your secrets in there. This sounds like a plan, very environment friendly and all it entails is a map of the hundred acre wood and a pair of trusty hiking boots. But being the lazy lump of lard that I am, I prefer Lilo's way of screaming everything on a pillow. All my huggable fluffy headrest are now certified deaf from this activity. My throat also aches and all I can do is drink hot tea and whisper to make it more bearable. Why do we punish ourselves like this? Are we addicted to pain?
On and on
She just keeps on trying
And she smiles when she feels like crying
On and on,
- On and On, Stephen Bishop -

Back to reality, I have job interviews left and right, something to stimulate the logic in me. thank God!