The lack of posts? That’s because I’m holding back. Whenever I have the urge to whine and whine about something, I feel stupid, because those are just small issues annoying me, but I feel like I’m living with one hell of a big problem. Am I so constantly hounded by it that I’ve accepted it as an integral part of my life?

Funny that I should be wondering, especially since it doesn’t make things better. Does it dissolve away the frustrations that tears have failed to do?

I was just thinking while walking on my way home. Nothing like solitude to bring out the cynic, the pessimist, the failure in us. Thinking about? Lots of stuff. Mostly “what if”. I haven’t come to any conclusion, because “if” still remains elusive.

Even in sleep I dream of waking, and when I’m awake I dream of sleep. I can’t please myself. Cling on to your blanket and hope the sun never rises and doesn’t touch you with its burning clarity; hide under the sheets when it gets too dark and the moon paints your pillow in cold light. Don’t try pleasing yourself. Know that even as you feel secure in your haven there’s still tomorrow to face and the past’s a cold dark place to be in.

Tomorrow. When it’s a brand new day and you start off on a tainted slate. When it seems like yesterday’s superimposed on today and today onto tomorrow. And tomorrow’s tomorrow. Where they all roll into one and Monday is the same as Thursday.

And maybe, just maybe, not delete your blogpost.

Everytime I start to type I look at my fingers, crippled with uncertainty. The cursor moves to the “delete” button and I face the blank screen again. I can’t be the same because I’m not the same. If, if, if.

I’m tired of thinking, of weighing, of judging. Who was it who said that we should live everyday as we would our last? It wouldn’t work. Problems don’t solve by themselves.

Though, we should stop thinking. Saves us all the trouble.

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