The insistent beats of Gold Finger’s Carlita, my 6 o’clock alarm song, brought me awake feeling strangely unrested despite a seven-hour sleep. Remembering the dream I just had only served to dampen the already chilly morning—the dream was not getting some sleep from the noise and loud conversations of my cousins and their friends. Talk about the less appealing side of meta. (Although I did get a lot of laughs out of myself and my brother from the irony of it.)
I’ll try again today. I will. I really will, even if it kills me (and if it does I hope I still survive).
The goal was to reestablish my daily writing routine. The ‘re’ in reestablish is partly because I had once again fallen into the writing-unfriendlies of one or two or all of the following: boredom, impatience, depressed(ive) mood, “What’s the point? Does it matter?” in tandem with the so-what-ness of anything and everything at any given time (especially because, by my estimation, probably at least only 3 people - including myself - will read what I’m writing with any amount of real attention). The ‘re’ is also partly because of being easily distracted, daydreaming, doubting my abilities and questioning what I’m doing: Why am I having a hard time processing this? Why can’t I write faster, work longer? Why am I so easily tired all the time? Why does this make me unhappy sometimes, many times, if this is what I’ve always dreamed of doing?
The ideal seems simple enough: Wake up at 6. Feed my cat; clean his litter boxes. Brew coffee. Have breakfast. Start writing - write for 3 hours. Take a break. Eat lunch. Write for another 3 hours. Take another break. Eat dinner. Write for 2 more hours. Take a bath. Go to bed. (Some days maybe exercise, maybe meditate.) And isn’t it only fair and just that I treat my thesis as a full time job requiring 8 hours or more of work every weekday? Yes, it’s only fair and just.
But real life includes dreams of not getting some sleep, going to the market and buying within the weekly budget, cooking, cleaning, laundry, the occasional panic with the uncertainties of the future, accelerated heartbeats at the changes happening all the time, existential angsts, #catsofinstagram, #IncubusLiveInManila2015, Lena Dunham interviews on YouTube, brainpickings.org, indie music on Spotify, etc. etc. etc.—endless little things when added together makes an enormous time-energy-sanity-eating monster; endless little things ready to be abused as ‘legitimate’ excuses to postpone writing.
I needed a break!
And yet, despite all this RL stuff and writing-unfriendlies, the attempt to continue stays. My desire to see this to the end is always somewhere inside (only at times hiding in obscure corners). Neil Gaiman said you learn by finishing things. And I trust Neil Gaiman. Or perhaps it’s because I’ve tried starting many things only to give up after the first try or in the middle. I want to prove that selfish self wrong here.
Flow is the reward for trying. The goddess Flow, She comes when unexpected and when I finally deserve it (maybe other times it’s just Her whimsy). Nothing can stop Her, not even my growling stomach or the huff-scruff of people around me doing their everyday business. With Flow, caffeine, my RL loves and needs become irrelevant, forgotten for the moment; ideas are so clear I wonder why the confusion? With Her, words are spitting out in eager trajectories, almost impatient to get typed out by my slow fingers.
How can I make Her stay forever?
But She leaves eventually and when I’m finally suffocating from the Ibids and the according tos and the for instances, my guitar and cat are within grabbing distance. I’d nuzzle my cat’s face or lay my head on his body (after 5 seconds of either, he complains and escapes). And I’d refill my inspiration reservoir, reanimate my general joy for life with strumming and singing and the new song I’m learning.
I’ll try again tomorrow. I will. I really will. I’ll try until the goddess shows up again.
(P.S. One does not simply grab a cat without facing serious repercussions. Rather, you ought to approach gently, at the right timing, seek the cat’s permission by first coming close, then very close to him/her, and wait if s/he welcomes, or at least doesn’t resent, your attentions.)
(P.P.S. However, yes. One can definitely grab a guitar, rockstarly or like so.)