Untitled - 25 Nov 2016

So, I am writing this for the sake of writing. I want to see my fingers do that dance on the keywords. I want the words to appear magically, as if the keyboard has grown a mind of its own. I want to listen to the music made by the incessant tapping of the keyboard. Its dope. Its fast, its mesmerizing, its addictive. It gives me a rush. It puts me in the flow. Its the best damn sound ever. Almost as good as sgMS singing. Its been so long I've indulged in my favorite guilty pleaseure - the one of writing. I havent written in so many days that its a fucking crime to call myself an author. 

Author - lol. The first book came out in 2014 and forget the strangers, even I have forgotten that I got one of my stories out. The other day I was at a book store and I told myself that it would be so cool to see my name in print. I had forgotten that I have been there and done that. And no, I am not a one-hit wonder -- the one that I wrote isn't a hit at all. 

I had plans to write more I HAVE plans to write more. I plan to retire an old man with an opinion on everything around me. And more importantly, an audience for all the opinion I peddle. Of course, today, I am a million miles away from it. 

As usual I have regular suspects to blame for it - work, health, travel. But when you are old and your spine is all but broken, the zest for life is all but gone, the infinite energy of your fading youth is no longer burning, who, what will you blame? Will it even matter? Remember why you started in the first place! 

And talking of blame, I take the blame for missing deadline on multiple things that I am supposed to do. For myself. Things like Book 2, multiple attempts at writing 1000 words a day, the #lifeGoal of conquering the Everest, learning the guitar, winning the main event at the WSOP. Other less selfish things that keeping my folks happy, finding purpose, helping others, Kwan. Wait. I shall not go down the pit of self-pity. There is more to life than that. I can choose to talk about things that I am happy about. Not a lot but there are a few. Or may be I will use this post to do what I do best when I write - think out loud. 

So, this urge to pour out, to talk to a stranger is a funny thing. I have friends that I know will lay down their lives for me. I know I can count on them. But I dont know if I can talk to them and explain the mess in my head (and PS, what a beautiful mess the damn head is). I need to find the cause of it. May be its the constant nagging at the back of my head about my inability to make meaning (and thus money). Or is it the release of super bundle of energy that I am? 

Thing is, I do multiple things to earn my bread but I am not sure if its the best use of my time. There are days where I have a lot of work and I cant even die. And then there are extended periods of lull where I could disappear and no one would know where I went. So may be I need to pick something that keeps me busy. And busy means busy. So busy that when I go home, all I do is sleep. I dont want time for finding love, for conquering my fears. I want to be busy. I want to drown. That's when I believe I would do justice to the gift that I have. Makes sense?