nasty new habit

See, I’ve done it again.

I’ve been staring at this “add new post” page for almost an hour now. Sepultura provides my background lullabye, furiously playing  Convicted in Life courtesy of good ole Youtube.

Nothing comes. I meant to write an earthshaking narrative to compensate for the time that I have neglected writing anything here. But nothing comes. Empty like the desiccated pulp of a lemon wedge after it gave up its life for the tequila.

My days are filled with various leavetakings and new hellos. All’s a whir that I barely have time to filter my experiences. There’s my full time job as a content writer. There’s also my role as a gatekeeper in this new house, answering doors like a butler who knows too many insider stuff about the master and mistress of the house. I am a personal shopper and a 24-hour apothecary, too. Then I decided to vary the routine a bit. When the dust settled, I see that may have bitten off more than I can masticate.

Earlier last week found me poring over medieval manuscripts and getting reacquainted with Sophocles, Aristotle, and the Bard at an intimate level that would make even the most hardened stripper blush.

I spent the latter part of the week reviewing my rickety background on grammar – and discovered that for all the years I spent as a – quote – copyeditor – unquote – I got by on the barest information about sentence coherence, grammar, and overall structure. A chuckle escapes me when I recall the “brainstorming” meetings in the old Shoe Factory about how to address recent issues in authors’ manuscripts, and I chuckle some more when I recall the most harebrained explanations put forth by the Unimaginative Shoemakers in those days. How naive we all were.

I successfully coerced myself to overcome my pathological shyness to read aloud Sylvia Plath’s “Daddy” in front of a panel. The experience left me both shaky and elated.

All these things I did with the intention of graduating two years hence with a Masters degree.

I did mean to write down my experience down to the minutest detail, but I feel drained. Stared at the lappy’s screen for an hour now, Soulfly and Sepultura failing to raise me from my zombified state. This staring is fast becoming a habit.

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