How is it January 30 already? That is insane. For my last post of the month, it’s going to get messy. This post will approach three issues, Miss Universe, the Muslim Ban, and Nazi violence. You have been warned.
These past few days have been strange. I haven’t had my meds in almost a week, but I don’t think that’s the problem. I’ve had a pretty nice routine going on for about a month, just to make the most of my days, to be productive and substantial. In fact, these last Wednesday and Thursday, I spent the majority of the day cleaning my room. As they say… something about being tidy, and tidy mind. Too bad my memory is shit.
I was unproductive for most of yesterday, and in the afternoon I was very restless. I remember playing Sims 3, and they would get a “stir crazy” moodlet if they hadn’t left the house in a while. Is this proof that I am a mere Sim? I even had my errands listed on a tweet, just to set it in stone. Alas, Twitter is not an infinite platform. I was supposed to have tea, work on my art, watch some anime, and go through my online course. I did none of that. It’s not the first time I’ve shirked my own milestones btw. It’s one of the things that convince me not to plan anything, because most of the time, it’s the spontaneous stuff that actually work out, and that way, you wouldn’t have stressed yourself out by setting goals you didn’t meet. That’s probably why I felt shitty yesterday afternoon because I hadn’t accomplished anything.
Ironically, I spent the majority of today cleaning up my room. I have the exhaustion to prove it. I dug up my old fancy schmancy dresses, and sadly I’m not as nostalgic as I am frustrated at the lack of storage, so I’m looking to give them away. Anyway, it’s not as if I’ll be wearing them again, and nostalgia is better felt in photographs. No, I’m not coldhearted, it’s just that I’ve kept things out of sentiment before, and they’ve only ended up unused and thrown out. Might as well give them a new home, to someone who might appreciate them better.
This weekend wasn’t particularly good for me. I tried following through with my routine, but something about weekends throw me off. I repeat the motions: I go to the bathroom, I wash my hands and face, I drink a glass of water with my anti-depressants, and make my coffee-choco. Mom made pancakes Saturday morning, but only after seeing I wasn’t up for breakfast. But Sunday morning was worse, under the guise of getting better. Like most bad things, one should at least try faking it till they make it. However, that didn’t work this time.
Pain demands to be felt, and so I had a cry in the privacy and comfort of my bedroom. I blasted Of Monsters and Men, which never fails to help me recover. I distracted myself with Supernatural fanfiction because fake angst is better than real angst. I snuggled in my fluffy covers because fake cuddles are easier to get than real cuddles. We all have different ways to recover. Thankfully, mine still works.
I’ve been waking up earlier than usual this week, usually to weird dreams. It freaked me out a bit. So last night, I made sure to sleep in a bit later than I have been, and this morning, I was woken up by my 7 am alarm. I have yet to figure out which I prefer.
I had 1/3 of my meds left, and I decided not to take it today, just to see how I can function without any of them. Probably wasn’t a good idea, but we couldn’t afford to buy my missing ones, so I experimented while I had the chance. I also had breakfast from a skeevy place I might stop buying food from, because they have some questionable hygiene. I’m not too picky when it comes to food–I’m Filipino, I live for street food–but this is a stationary 24-hour place. For my own sake, I’ll be staying away from it.
Keeping up with the morning alarm habit, but this morning I finally pulled out my new sketchbook and brought out all my pencil cases. I put my name on the book, sharpened a fresh pencil, and spent about half an hour sketching on a page. I also played a bit with my camera, but I’m still trying to figure that out.
When I went downstairs, I let Arya out of her cage for a while as dad cleaned her cage. That sort of threw me off my bathroom, meds, coffee-choco, breakfast habit, but it’s okay. And since I had listed down topics I had in mind for the blog, it wasn’t too hard to work out what this post will be about. Now, I have a pretty shitty memory, so the list is encouraged by past me who has forgotten stuff I wanted to write about before, and it’s the 21st century, there are ways to alleviate that problem. *Sigh* Speaking of which, I already forgot the point I was trying to make about my memory. Let’s move on.
Fair warning, I am Filipino, so this post will mention a fair bit of relatives. It might get confusing, but bear with me. I will distinguish them as best as I can. For privacy and anonymity’s sake, should their names be relevant, they will be given aliases as well, like Sylvester.
I am so close to playing Sims instead of writing this, you have no idea. Okay.
This post is meant to be a two parter, because I missed Sunday night’s blog. But fuck it. It’s my blog, it can be shitty if I want it to be. Peace.
Today was a good day, albeit a confusing morning. I woke up ahead of my alarm cos of this weird dream I was having. I was somewhat in control of it in a way that I was trying to escape this stupid giant that lived in this big ass house but was confined underwater in a pool…? I was normal sized with wings… it was weird. And I kept thinking, “this is stupid, I have wings. The ceiling is glass. I can break this with all the fucking rocks in this place.” But then my brain got too fast for my body, and by the time my alarm went off at 6 am, I woke up. I tried going back to sleep, the bed was so fluffy, the temperature was nice and cozy, and I almost succeeded… were it not for my bladder. Please understand that our bathroom is literally in the other side of the house, downstairs. So I usually can’t go back to sleep after peeing. This was a very bad dilemma when my bed was still a bunk bed. So pee is just the bane of my existence. Let alone poop in the middle of the night and your stomach is trying to kill you.
We are off to a terrific start.