Practicing another revision-inspired entry, the writer brings me again to his dispiriting catacombs, luring tentatively an objecting thought to his undesirable hub of torment, and nightmarish pain.
On a day where my threshold of coping is just above level, and in fortnights where its series begin in anomalistic low waves steeped in negatives, only to reach this abnormal height only above bearable in fortuitous, erratic circumstance, this is a day of no particular point, but a day where the lapsing writer tribute fused with its departed memory and a sense of conscience was born.
I would have slept this morning like so many nights in this fortnight before me, but unlike my acquiescent mood in these last few nights, enslaved to a fracas of pills and their sedating benefits, to the hum of the computer fan causing a pleasing sort of disarray, and to the television speakers conjuring the same sort of background muse to drown out my inward own; unlike my submitted mood in a fortnight of welcoming wanted distractions, tonight was one of those tests of effect, to challenge the establishment, and to see what resilience had accrued.
Play Computer Games On PC
An average day was today. Vague and indistinctive, it began in the first hour of the afternoon, allowing for little else afterwards. A shower highlighted my break of day before the non-event turned me toward the computer, and a sap of computer games, until some decent television showed.
War rages in the Middle East, but with its coverage overkill, news was missed, allowing more hours to zombie out with something else to tie up my day. I use the computer when my sense of adventure is lost or because it beats boredom. I play games because it occupies my mind and keeps anxieties away. Meanwhile its repercussions see time (like the essence I am) fall through my fingers, only to waste upon all these unfruitful years.
New Goal To Keep Fit
I would have gone out today, but routine chose my fate to stay home instead, since hobbies are scarce and my only engagement is a day from now at the gym, which is my only serious stretch outside of alter reality.
Keeping fit and losing some pounds has been a direction of mine lately since discovering my blood pressure and cholesterol as high, and while it was already a loose addiction, halfhearted because of the self-conscious or for lures less traumatic like relative sanctuary in my own home, its course since these concrete findings accelerates my commitment there.
Visiting the gym is now systematic and dependable. Alternating days see me visit three times a week and the rest are spent like this at home, wasting away my time on the computer and games, with the anxiety of bills to pay, without a phone, without an outlet, and anxiously ambivalent about who calls.
I actually like visiting the gym these days too. Since the quiet of finishing my landscaping duties, the gym has busied its old hollowed space. Where once the gym was a burden to my nerves and anxieties, it now is a boon to my esteem, a place to lose myself from the steadfast woes of home. In a sense of calm, my mind distances to switch off, as the workout rejuvenates me and then takes me home.
I value the gym because it separates me from these issues. Nevertheless, the sake of my anxieties always greet me when back here, and no two favorable days have ever in these past fortnights been well received back to back.
Quitting Soccer In Week One
I need something else instead of the neglect these bye days are. I need to escape the house more and with good reason. It sends me crazy on those perilous trips up and down the murkiness of my threshold. I would have taken soccer but it never eventuated.
I never liked being a pawn to my own destiny, having been introduced to an already familiar group of sport junkies being uncomfortable with my inexpertness, and the fact that trial games were only one week away. I didn’t want to be the only novice and didn’t fit the mold of seasonal swingers who departed from their vocational cricket to meantime dabble in this sport awhile.
I didn’t appreciate the lack of practice to match fitness or even the coaching encouragement spotlighting me as the odd one out. I didn’t need the extra anxiety or stress, so despite my money wasted on registering, and the way the negative committed us both to the game thinking it would help me on, I decided to quit before it even started.
A week was all it took, one where the first lap around the oval tuckered me out, and total exhaustion ensued within the first labored ten minutes. Quitting was abrupt and it made me feel guilty to leave the negative no line, but he more or less coerced me into the situation of joining. I wanted us to join a team where neither of us had ties, but he hoodwinked me into a team that all his cricket mates had shaped, and so it was always going to be awkward; awkward because the negative was exposing himself to me and me to his friends, and this made for an underlying nature of competition between us, and of strategy also.
I never liked the circumstances since the day of registration but we paid and so were committed. All the time that our team trained my eyes would wander to where a bustle of people were practicing drills, not unlike us, we snooty and scratching for numbers.
I wanted to be anonymous and not unsubtly noticed, the one that needed to mesh. I wanted to be one in a number and at my own pace instead of obliged to pace out. I wanted to join soccer because of its freeing toward confidence, but instead it marbled me towards a path more undesirable. In that ensemble, it never worked.
Using Withdrawal Symptoms To Write
Anyway, the reason this entry happened this evening is because of my decision to tread the waters and to experiment on what would occur without my daily habit of pills for depression (which help me sleep). I wanted to witness my reaction without medication, but it never worked, as my mind ticked over, made me recall better memories and then lured me out of bed to recite my written history on gridiron.
I used this precipice as a way to fall back into my memoirs and away from its plateau neglect. I have the writer been a vagabond for weeks now, honestly forgetting that my memoirs existed at all. One main reason has been the fluctuation of mood but also because my memoirs have become an incessant bearer of sad, unhappy news. I hated brining the intense conflict here, so it was easiest to disappear, to forgo its days of echoed disappointment and not subscribe to it.
I guess you can poke the same stick at tonight however. I never wanted to write, but it happened that way because my wariness factored into the plot, and now the writer is antagonized. I feel stable now, but time has shown me its fickleness. Tomorrow, even with the gym, a barrage of anxieties will probably again ensue.
I have become quite used to it, a method of ups and downs with deep lows and highs barely above a threshold. I may waver there a day but it is never dependable, as ever since the dark ages not a week in whole has ever been remembered in constant matrimony.
I may be happy for a day, but it never carries. So this is my life, reticular as it is.
Finally Able To Regulate Sleep
The only dependability recently has been the pills finally being able to put me to sleep. Last month was spent in the dorm of mornings with insomnia, unable to sleep until exhaustion set in and my parents had finally woken up. The creeks and noises that entered into the stillness of my room had unsettled me. So, like experimental tonight, it roused me to more intricate work for my mind to appease.
I am unusual, in an unequivocal sense of the word when it comes to my theatre compared to others, but nonetheless, it is getting better.
Despite the pills for blood pressure, for cholesterol, iron deficiency and for depression as well, the gym does great to balance me out. A day a fortnight to balance my monetary needs helps too.
I would have been crazier had the gym not been as reliable as it is, a mess of anxieties and perplexed depression sitting at home listlessly in front of this computer.
Parents Buy Me A Fridge
I have a new fridge now too however, which makes those daily awkward necessities upstairs no more a confrontation.
Mum and dad chipped in for a nice fridge earlier last month shortly after the machine had his birthday, which fit in nicely with the discovery about my high blood pressure and so on. I have started to reclaim back some of my independence as well, deciding to buy my own foods, cleaning a small assortment of dishes downstairs, and making up my own meals. I hope mum thankfully gets the message without all the aggravation, but since the separation, irks have evaporated away.
Life Stable With Positive Routines
This is the situation of these last three weeks however. I have considerably calmed down thanks to the refrigerator, a sense of independence and the frequency of workouts at the gym. The lack of pressure at soccer also helps too, but it leaves that gap these days forlorn at home would have needed.
I may visit the local college this afternoon to see what courses are on route to the gym hoping for its new start. But until some impetus in these crooked days kicks, the gym, the fortnight pay and these small local ventures for groceries will only momentary redeem, and sad so until its end it is.
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.
