Rendered Unproductive By Construction Noise
The story starts on an insignificant Saturday, which despite its irrelevance, must come in order for priority to have any purpose.
I barely done anything today save for some work in morsels on my memoirs followed by a trip down the street for an obligatory vote in the polls. The rest of my day turned to shit afterwards, as small distractions are so the undoing many times over.
Days as these always drown me with pet peeves, but usually it’s the neighbors or birds (or both) that frustrate me. On Saturday afternoon it was my dad pounding away on another hopeful barbecue that discouraged the writer. How ironic that the tables had turned. Nonetheless, it was still noise and it sent these sensitive ears into a mad spin.
Things were never the same since. Dad carried on through the afternoon chiseling away irregularly at some cement slabs right outside my door. You could imagine how frustrating it would have been then. I never got angry though, but just turned to computer games instead.
My Own Personal Doomsday
Playing “The Sims” by Mavis was great stress relief. But as with most games, once you start, you find it hard to pull away. Before I knew it, the time was an evening eight and any hope to salvage something from my day was a hopeless exercise.
Playing games and staring at the screen for so many hours depressed me. It seemed worse when finding no one was around online. The desolate scene scared me into thinking that the writer has kept me out of touch with reality, and ironically, had made online life my last avenue of freedom. A year ago it would have been a very different story, but as the willing scapegoat would be the first to confess, my memoirs have dominated me over these last few months.
What sacrifices hasn’t the writer made?
Gone are my friends, my weekends, girlfriends, the gym and any sense of time whatsoever. My friends online were my life support, but even they have been causing me some sleepless nights lately. I feared isolation, but there it was staring me right in the face. Tenley hadn’t been online for over a week, Devorah was on and off every couple of days, and the eve had disappeared for a while.
“Here it is,” I thought, “my own personal doomsday.”
About the only glimmer of hope was when chatting to Azalea. But even that seemed a glum hope to hold onto. Unfortunately though, it seemed inevitable for this beleaguered writer to have me lose my way of life. Now it seems easier to find solace in success than to recover my former ways.
Can there be a revival? Can things come back and flourish or is this month destined as like the last, to be a battle of incertitude? I would hate to be “serving the wasteland” but if some color doesn’t come back to these cheeks, then nothing will change.
Diary Of A Mad Chaos is a daily diary written from March 1996 until today, of which individual books and book series have been created, namely “The Lost Years” an exploration of young, entwined love, the “Wubao In China (猎艳奇缘)” book series which provides an extensive comparative analysis of the cultural differences between Eastern and Western societies, and the book titled “Foreigner (华人)” an exploration of race relations in Australia.
