The relative sizes of planet notebook says the length of one year in Jupiter is 12 years, which makes me barely 2 years old. You thought I’d write a sappy story about how two star-crossed lovers waited so many Jupiter years, but no. I won’t. I thought of it, but unfortunately there is nothing romantic or affectionate about this post. It is just something that is written on the cover of my new notebook.
This, is about distractions. A constant, endless distraction.
That small tab next to an “x” symbol, that Facebook newsfeed–upcoming American election, the recent shuffle in the government, Instagram–more American politics, some random poetry and artworks, Path–this person is getting married, oh, this one just had their wedding, the others are traveling, oh a list of 72 Pokemon this person has caught? Fascinating. Then, not to mention those mean-looking cats, adorable dogs, and oh, a flying mosquito.
I have been in this position for over too many times for these past weeks, trying to get my head around one post. I need practice for my writing, I said, anything, any one whole, finished entry. But the once again, the cat won, and I failed.
The more the day has passed, the more I feel intimidated of a white blank page. It scares me, not in a ghostly way, but almost like the mean girl in high school who reflects all the answer of your insecurities and would bully you through one silent stare. As if this quiet blank page have seen all the repeated failures of me against all the meaningless distractions and boy, it’s embarrassing.
Perhaps, I’d take it less defensive if it is about all the writer’s block bullcrap. But I don’t think It is not about not knowing what to write, but more about the constant distraction of how everything else is doing, thoughts like — where’s my phone? I’m going to check that one unread email, oh, there’s a text message, oh wait, let see how my friends, whom most of them I barely talked to, are doing. Ugh. Look how well she’s doing. Speaking of, I haven’t posted in a while, maybe I should. What about this photo I took in Trafalgar Square? This looks pretty. Damn it, I miss London terribly.
Not long after, my eyes will get weary and before I know it, the clock strikes 12. Tomorrow calls for work. Typing seems like a heavy job–think about the all harsh comments you’d be throwing to yourself, Fiya. Think about those empty moments when this stripe keeps blinking, and blinking, not knowing which word out of so many other words will fit after this. No, not this. Press delete, delete, delete. This leaves one and only solution of any other cowardly action, that is to press the Apple button top left, find Shut Down, and close my eyes.
Then repeat on the day after.
And the next.
And next
