For the first time in many weeks, I'll be sleeping tonight with the alarm clock switched off. Which therefore means that I can sleep in as late as I want tomorrow, without worrying about what time I need to wake up just because I've got something to do or somewhere to go, etc, etc.
It's the eve of a public holiday and the start of a very long weekend but already, there's a to-do list at the back of my mind that I know I should attend to very soon or risk not completing much by the time work resumes this coming Monday. Included on aforesaid list is the pile of paperwork I've brought back home and I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I could set aside a few hours or so completing it.
I know, I know.. basically I'm just whining and grumbling; and perhaps it's nothing compared to the workload some of my blog readers might have. But though I come across as a laid-back, carefree individual to my personal friends, I'm actually a closet pessimist and worrier. I worry about the most inconsequential things sometimes. And the most maddening thing is that I'm a slow worker and a wanna-be perfectionist to boot. *Sigh*
Personal. Does a blog need photos of oneself or one's friends and family before it can be labeled as "personal"? A picture paints a thousand words -- or so the song goes and perhaps, it's true. But some of the most memorable events in history is set into motion because of a photograph, or a misconstrued one. Case in point: wasn't it photos, published without context for free interpretation by the public, that sparked the Maria Hertogh riots of the 1950s? And anyone who've watched Clint Eastwood's Flags of Our Fathers would know that people would believe anything -- even something completely untrue -- as long as there's a good photograph or picture that accompanies it.
The point I'm trying to make here is that, though photos and pictures are scarce here, I do consider this blog to be a personal one. If it wasn't, why would I bother keeping it for FOUR years already??? LOL. FOUR years!! That's certainly quite an achievement for someone who can't seem to stick to a certain activity for very long.
Which brings me to the issue of writing. I really love writing. I find comfort in expressing myself in the written word and indeed, I've always imagined carving some sort of career out of this interest or passion.. But a few years ago, I discovered that it wasn't my calling. I tried but somehow I couldn't. I think I'm just not a very emotionally expressive person by nature, or even when I try to be, it all comes out muddled, almost riddle-like or abstract and vague. So... poems are my kind-of-thing really; nevertheless, it's been ages since I last tried my hand at it.
I think I've lost my muse.
