Mindless and Sleepless

I am an insomniac.

I’ve always been plagued with sleeplessness ever since I was young.  There might be hundreds or even thousands of articles published by proper experts in the medical field that can explain the reasons behind sleeplessness ranging from the physical to the mental, but none of the remedies, therapy, and what-not had even helped my case.

Cloudy With A Chance Of Crazy

I found myself staring at a blank page for what seemed like an hour or so, trying to find words that I no longer can remember.

Have you been in this situation a lot?

I have… and it’s worse than writer’s block.

I’m prone to rambling and I’ll take this opportunity to apologize because I need to write it down or forever hold my peace. So bear with me if you can as I strive to make sense out of the craziness of it all.

You see, it’s been a cloudy weather inside my fishbowl head for quite some time now. It taunts me and tells me, “Hey! There are a lot to write about. But let’s make it a bit more interesting by making it a bit cloudy so the obvious is not that obvious.”

You Break It, You Pay For It

When I was a kid, my parents used to warn me to keep my hands behind my back whenever we’re in the fragile part of a department store (i.e., the glassware and home accessories section). My mom would tell me that if I break something, I’ve got to pay for it. For a kid with limited funds, that’s enough to make me get scared and opt-out from the excursion on that part of the store.

Now, looking back on those words, I can’t help but relate it to every day my life, but it a less literal way.

I learned early on that glass, ceramics and porcelain are not the only things that can break. Trust, hope, love and all the abstract things in our lives can be broken too — and we have to pay for it one way or another. 

Is It Or Isn’t It?

Yes… it’s been months of radio silence, and I promise that there’s an acceptable reason for it. But before I try to explain my prolonged absence from the Blogosphere, I wanted to tell you something with how crazy this chick can get some or most of the time.

Writing has been and always will be a sort of therapy for me. When things get to overwhelming, I write — whether I’m too happy or I’m too sad. Somehow, I can’t get into the middle ground of the emotional spectrum. Beats me. 

Time Changes, Everything Changes

When left all by myself, my brain goes into hyper-drive — a by-product of being intra-personal for half of my existence so far — I get so down into the whole introspection, over-analyzing situations sometimes. (Yes… I’m self-critical too, and it’s a habit that I’ve been trying to wean myself from for decades.)

When I’m in the “zone”, I think up the most silliest and sometimes the most damning existential thoughts (and questions) that can go on for thousands of years. And one of them is: If time is constant and everything changes, how come history repeats itself?

Who has time to even think about this?