Same old, same old.

The truth is I really should be writing a script right now, but since my mind’s too preoccupied to do that, I figured why force myself? If in the end forcing would just end in an awful story-telling.

Life has been passing me by. Or at least that’s how I feel. Days have been coming and going as swiftly as changing channels on tv when you’re bored. I guess I'm bored. I haven’t written in my journal for so many months now. Thinking about it makes me sad. I like writing down everything—where I went, who I went with, what made me happy that day. Everything. But little by little, without even noticing it, my fire is being extinguished, if I ever really burned at one point or another. Or maybe it was all in my head. I wouldn’t know. I really don’t know anything anymore.

I am not sure whether to be happy or be sad that time’s passing by so quickly. During work days, I wish but nothing more than the end of the week to arrive, but when I’m in my bed, or out with a good friend, I wish nothing more than for time to stop. Or slow down, even just a little. But it never does. It just courses, incessantly, like an angry river. And I don’t know whether to hold on to a rock, or just let it take me.

Would it be so bad, to just let go? I’ve been clinging on to shallow ground for the longest time, and I’m not really going anywhere. If I let go, and let the waters take me, well—the river ends in the sea, after all. Maybe then I’ll be free. Or maybe even happy. (because there’s a lot of fish in the sea? What am I saying?)

I know I said I wouldn’t let this blog get too sad by narrating all my loneliness here, but sometimes life just gets to you. Oh but how I wish it doesn’t. I wish I didn’t care at all.

I think I am missing something awfully vital here. But I still refuse to go where everyone just flows.

There’s this girl whose life I’ve been following through her blogs. I am so fascinated by her, and all the wonderful things she does. I’ve always, in a way, looked up to her, and being that I really don’t know her personally, makes her some sort of a deity to my eyes. I don’t know what makes her human or what her flaws are, anyway. And sure, I may have been also a little jealous. But then I learned that she too is going through a “phase”. As well as two other persons whose blogs I also read. Seems like a plague going around, making hopeful dreamers like me confused and paranoid. My best friend refers to it as the quarter-life crisis.

Quarter-life crisis: when you’re early to mid twenty’s and you have no idea what to do with you life, or where you belong in the world, and you start to ask questions like “am I not meant to be great?” (because yes, subconsciously everyone wants to be great. Everyone.) and you start fearing the thought of yourself, gray-haired and wrinkly, a retired marketing expert rather than a happy, meaningful artist you always planned to be.

Whether this quarter-life crisis is an actual phase (I dare not say “actually exists”, because it does, I’ve stared it in the face for so long) that everyone has to go through, and not just something my best friend and I invented, I hope it passes and that it’s conquerable. I have yet to find out how exactly, but all I know is that there’s this constant fear of never really getting anything useful out of it, and for the rest of your life you have to live with this uncomfortable knot tied at the pit of your stomach. It feels like that for me, anyway.

I have to get back to work.