Goodbye, November, I Hardly Knew You!

Neglect has nothing to do with blogging anemia hitting this spot lately.

My inner blogging fiend have attempted, on many occasions, to type several posts but they all instantly got trounced by creeping boredom, mediocrity and the chronic, ominous demands of frantic deadlines, personal life priorities, parental concerns and the pervasive lack of strong motivations and inspirations to commit into coherent paragraphs all those insane thoughts swirling in my head.

November whizzed by and in its gone-too-soon wake settle the dusts of crumpled expectations, a degenerating hopefulness, and that slow burning ache that usually follows sad realizations. It is almost difficult to think clearly and there were moments where I catch myself trailing off to wishful thinking. There were inescapable times when I ponder on the very things that bruise a dream. And try to dig deep into faint flashbacks of events, vainly trying to fish out nuggets of insight that maybe buried in the complexities of persisting on stubborn optimism. I try to rationalize and come up with weak consolations that would somehow distract me from growing weariness.

Simple pleasures have been mislaid if not altogether shoved out the hierarchy of importance. This includes not seeing a single movie, being too tired to sit down and watch television or too riddled with worry to read a book. Listening to an entire album is such a chore. November also saw abstaining from magazines, deprivation of friendly banter over unhurried meals and postponing any inclination of romantic nature.

Subsisting on anxieties that come with the determination to build something (again) from scratch occupied the hours. It has come to a point of barely stopping to catch a breath just to convince myself that life can't be that bleak, especially when reminded of routine obligations, when bills exact attention and assorted urgencies camp by the bedside to greet you in the morning. And please, for respect of everything sacred, don't wander too close for comfort and slide under the clouds of melancholia, or yield to being sorry for skating the fine line between unhappiness and despair.

Even when entrenched in unflattering self-absorption I try to stay sober: I am always aware that I cant afford to drift into over-self-indulgent thoughts, knowing full well that it will lead nowhere near the vicinity of being useful—for one's self or for others.

Maturity is such an affliction and I'm not even quite near as half as good in this aspect.

So I clamber on through the day, struggling to subvert the howls of cynicism and resignation with brave self-assurance that a time will arrive when I could quicken my pace down the street and meet a certain smile to wipe all the dullness away.

Meanwhile I have this to say: Goodbye, November. I hardly knew you.