I saw him. He bought a coffee and gazed at his Blackberry phone as if dreading all the people around him. I used to do the same thing, pretend that I was busy writing a text message.
Now you wonder why I didn’t walk up to him to say hello. I don’t really know. Well, I thought he was with someone, as he talked to some woman, but in the end, he left the café alone. Then I realised there was no point, I was too late.
He lost some weight since July. The Tintin figure is coming to show. I was hoping he had cut down on the coffee.
My heart hasn’t beaten like that in a while. No, I’m not referring to coffee…I haven’t drunk coffee since last summer.
I have slightly lost touch with my novel. I’m too exhausted to focus. My brain can’t fathom so many things, and yet I can see the incompleteness, but I’m can’t fill in the blanks.
Did I mention I received about four Christmas gifts? I don’t buy Christmas gifts, but to receive them means I’d have to return the favour. I no longer have gift ideas, and I don’t have the time to ship them out. And when I have time, the post offices are closed. I don’t see the point in gifts. Social conventions and human interactions are becoming more and more complicated.
I don’t even have time for myself; how could they expect me to have time for them? Sometimes I wish I could tape my fingers together and not type a word like the ones I just did. They are unforgivable. Like, I’m unworthy of your kindness. I can no longer return the favour.
I now understand what Buk meant when he said you have to dedicate a day to doing nothing. Lie in bed, toss and turn, stare at the ceiling for no reason. I understand that it was his kind of meditation, his moment of calm. But in moments like these, I would kill myself.
When Stuart McCormick sent Ellen Parker on vacation, she didn’t know what to do with herself. In the end, her dark faculties had outlived her, engulfed her and dragged her into her worst nightmares.
Who has the time to face their demons nowadays? We’re all too busy being with the wrong people, too busy dying with the wrong people. And when the right person shows up, you let him walk by.
Do you still have room to accommodate regrets?
You’re full of fiction material that keeps you alive, and whatever sentiment you have collected can be utilized and transformed into something more powerful. You might call it a living lie, but all I care about is the recycled sentiment that is half mine and half that of my creation.
This is how you share. This is how you understand your actions.