unproductive

I've had quite an unproductive weekend. And I'm so tempted to post all my nonsense on lj, but I shall resist. No reason to flood my friends' friends' page. So to you, my dear anonymous reader(s?), I shall provide you with an account of my past few days.

If productivity were measured in...
1. Finishing an 816 page book (The Historian) in a litle less than a day
2. Cataloguing all the songs of my previous (read: high school) compilations..
3. And taking note what songs I should download since the cds are starting to fall apart
4. Finding a really nice shot of Stevie Gerrard
5. Creating a backup for all my files (traumatic for your yahoo account to be hacked-- in addition to all those emails and memories, it also acts as my temporary file storage)
6. Trying on my different jackets to see what best suits this weather
7. Changing rooms and seating arrangements to accommodate my long reading hours...
8. Constantly doing neck and back exercises
9. Watching the growing crisis in the Middle East
10. Writing many pages in my journal (yes, in addition to lj and blogger, I have my handwritten journal. Jeez, I really must love reading my own words as opposed to actually speaking them)

..... Then I would have had a very productive day.

Spent the most part of my day realizing, though. Not very pleasant thoughts, now that I think about it. Durned book. I thought about how rarely I think of the future. The future meaning ten years from now. The most I can make out of my life as of now is me, five years from now. And even so, it isn't even a clear picture of who I am and what I want to be doing. All I know is, I'm studying. What, where, all those details are all a blur. I suppose this is a more optimistic note than the image I had for myself at twenty when I was 15 or less years old. Let's see, at twenty, I'd be dead. Now that's a cheerful thought. Teenage/high school angst mixed with unfortunate circumstances? Maybe. But we all went through our own stages of high school angst/bitterness/me-against-the-world sort of thing. At that time, could I ever have predicted a life of twenty like this?

And what life of twenty is this? Two decades of my life. Is this burnout I'm feeling? My detachment to everything that should be important to me. Insensitive. Desensitized. One of those. I've forgotten how to laugh, to cry, to be angry, to be ecstatic-- to truly feel emotions. To let myself FEEL. Looking back on these past ew months, I realized how my life has been so devoid of emotion. and how it's just been full of a passiveness that I don't recall I had in me. Of calmly accepting things. Of letting things control me. Of shrugging my shoulders at everything. Of straing blankly into space.

I'm still waiting for that baptism of rain like Natalie Portman's in V for Vendetta.

So here's to the twenty-something madness every twenty-something is feeling. But I'm not even twenty-something. My god, I just turned twenty.

Hah. I'm not making sense. There's a point here somewhere. Me thinks I should roganize my thoughts some more.

On a side note, I try so hard to run away from it, but damn, you're just a harder and faster runner.