Friday, June 05, 2009

we're writing again- about the same things, again.

Can't sleep. Err, yet again. And this precipituous inclination to despair is in the air once more- after what could be a long and unabated (possibly) zest for post-school life. Heh, that bit over a year certainly had my head going the right way, I guess. I actually felt good. I wasn't exactly doing the same thing everyday for the last year, learning curve was challenging, and I find work (people, etc) quite tolerable and even fun, occasionally. That's prolly the longest time for A Clean, Well-lighted Place after that generally dreary and pointless college life. Point is, we're possibly on a journey yet again that'd retell how I came of out of sappy ego-diminishing sentimentalities back in the hay days.

Well, I want to believe that this schmaltziness should be some form of blessing. I've forgotten how I came to resolve all those puerile conundrums on life's "supposedly" evident (nauseating) aimlessness. this is a chance to really know that journey again - and write about it, getting me a deeper psychosis of myself. hopefully, it'd get me a better chance to reassess things, esp on whether I'm still game with the choice I made for myself 2 years ago- ah, hazy days... and suddenly a year has passed. Like I'm suddenly awake.

Gah. It's just that sad movie, yeah? And why the hell do I always bother to come off with a vague form of depth. I mean, isn't "vague form of depth" irony, even? Urk. Let's just get back to our venture on getting our value increase in the corporate world, which ceaselessly proves its usefulness and sterility, esp. when it comes to drying off those sappy emotionalities on who we really are, etc. We're just workers in cubicles dammit. money money money and, from time to
time, let's forcefully churn out gaeity from folks at work, friends and family. That's life in the 21st century. Exceptions either die out or infect us with their own version of life. Let's just welcome that wave. let's stop this pointless pseudo-intellectual middle-class ramblings already.

Maybe something fun for next time...

yeah, I think that physical journal I write to everyday is esentially neurotic. I need another medium to show my version of the world, one that makes me feel like I'm really talking to actual people. I know, what pathetic sort of yuppiness have I found myself dragged to.