Indulgence

plunge

Dido from Life For Rent (written by Dido and Rollo Armstrong)
`Coz nothing I have is truly mine

My mood just took a plunge. Down, down, down it goes. I wonder why cigarette smoke is not affected by gravity. All of a sudden, a lit cigarette becomes so lovely during these down moments. Standing at the fire exit, my back leaning against the fire exit door to keep it closed as I smoke, I watch the cigarette smoke waft lazily upwards towards the sky while my mood just keeps on sinking.

Work, work, work. A new show, a new pilot, new problems, new stress and anxiety and pressure. Work, work, work.

My friend Cholo just told me, that's just work. Yeah, it's just work. I can't seem to shake it off, that's all. We were doing fine with the old show; why'd everything have to change? To start from scratch only weeks before the airing date. Right now, I feel like a machine. But I need a tune up. I need a fucking tune up.

Sinking. Mood is sinking deeper into the abyss. I don't want to be dour in the next couple of days but I suppose that should be the price I pay for the absolutely perkiness I had yesterday (or was it for the past few days?). Mood shifts are happening more often, I noticed. Not a good sign. Usually, the mood lasts for months. Now, I am shifting moods by the week. Sometimes, in a span of 3 days.

I hope it's chemical. It's probably chemical. My body chemistry is shifting because I've started to become a coffee drinker and the addition of caffeine into my system is drastically shifting my mood shifts. I don't want to call it mood swings because swinging is too sudden a motion; too consistent. Shift seems more like the appropriate word. Either that, or I just don't want to be like everybody else.

Who wants to be like everybody else anyway?

I'm going down. Deeper and deeper. Maybe I can try writing a draft for a poem. Back in college, it was in these moods that I would just stare at a blank word document and fill it up with words and make a draft for a poem. Who are you kidding? You would write drafts of poems after meals or long shallow talks with your friends! You would shit drafts out of your fingers! You never bothered to edit 80% of them. Over 60 drafts in your CD of files and still, they haven't been looked over and fixed. Lazy ass!

Sinking. Lead weights attached to my feet. Plunging. This is useless. To use my brother's term, anyone want to join me in my pity party?

posted by wanggo @ 8:48 PM