monotonous

In this history of this blog, with the exception of one month-long hiatus, the past 3 days could just be the longest I’ve gone without tinkling on the keys to create meaningless paragraphs of text.

I typed out a sentence as an opening to the weekly pictorial update on Sunday night, but I couldn’t find it within me to upload Joshua’s post-bathtime pictures. I just didn’t feel like doing it.

The back-to-back weekend activities robbed me of any chance to be online, and somehow that unwittingly weaned me off the daily habit. It’s like an addiction.

The compulsive need to check my Bloglines subscriptions.
That irrepressible urge to record my day, random thoughts, triumphs and tribulations.
A reliance to connect and socialise with other adults through instant messaging.

Suddenly, all that is gone after a short span of two days.

Something is brewing inside me, and at this point, I have yet to figure out that that something is. But I know it’s not going to be nice once it decides to show its true self and spill forth like water from a broken dam.

Despite finally having turned my body clock back to normal humane standards, there’s a monotony that eats away at me. The way it threatens to consume my newfound normality scares me. One could say that I have a penchant for mental self-torture.

There must be something about being an unbridled depressive that tempts me to revert time and again.

And from the way words seem to flow incessantly in the creation of this post, I think we can all safely conclude that my mental state is sliding down into the pits again.

I could never write as well being happy. Happiness just turns me into a brainless bimbo with no knack for language whatsoever. It isn’t the best state to be in, but I guess it really depends on how you want to look at it.

There was a sense of foreboding when I got a bit too upset after Joshua had his head shaven clean. He didn’t look like my baby, and I didn’t like it one bit.

Regardless of how others claim that he’s even cuter without the baby hair, I just couldn’t see him in the same light. He was different, and I found it hard to convince myself that he’s the same baby who suckles on me for nutrition.

Right now I am nursing the mother of all tension headaches. The loathsome throbbing of my temples sinks me deeper into the a conjured state of agony. At 5am in the morning, this was the last thing I expected since I had already fallen asleep by 11pm. But who could I blame except myself?

I must be the biggest sucker to relish in such masochistic ways.

Isn’t it such an irony that while many seek to have a fulfilling love life, a happy little family and the luxury of not having to juggle the multi-faceted roles in life, I am here sabotaging my own bliss?

I’ve probably got one of the most blessed lives around currently, but like I always tell my friends, I must be mentally damaged.

Maybe I strive too hard to lead a “perfect life”, when no such thing exists.
Maybe my prior fuck-ups in life make me even more keen on preventing more.

But in reality, there’s no one else fucking anything up except for myself. The irony.

I am considering another hiatus until I sort out my head.

Hopefully the monotony of my days and emotions will be uplifted once the items from my online sprees have arrived. It’ll be like receiving a surprise present, since you never know exactly when it will show up in your mailbox. Yeah, I can be such a juvenile when it comes to such things.

Meanwhile, wish for me to have the wisdom to snap out of this instead of secretly enjoying it.

I think I will take this quiet time to upload Joshua’s uber-cute bathtime pictures and publish the backdated post of one sentence.

 

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