Sunday, August 24, 2008

Life, Half-Lived

Living a half-life? Not sure? Read my symptoms then.



You started each morning actually wanting to go to work for no other reason than sheer, bright-eyed enthusiasm. More than that, you couldn't wait to go to work everyday to the extent that you go to sleep the night before thinking about what you're going to wear so that you could look the part of the sharp, talented, individual that you are. After thinking about the "get-up" you start worrying about work that hasn't been handed to you yet and if you could possibly come up with something so stellar, so mind-blowing that oohhh's and ahhh's will be the standard reactions of your colleagues. Take note, all this fretting actually takes place BEFORE the work has been handed to you. Such was your zeal and optimism that the word "effort" was always/inevitably trailed by the suffix "less" for you.

You set your morning alarm at least 2hrs and 30mins before your actual work time to avoid the early traffic but end up setting it to "snooze" for another hour, totally canceling out your intent to be punctual. This has become your morning routine, a continuous battle not to be late for work that you lose everyday. Upon getting to the office, you spend a small amount of time worrying what others might think of your constant tardiness. But then, as I mentioned, it's just a small amount of time. You simply don't give a damn anyway, or should I say, anymore. Once in your station, you sigh and think about how you're going to get through another day because it seems you already want to leave when you've just gotten there. You spend the day idling and procrastinating then make up various alibis you recite to yourself so you could feel less guilty. You never even stop to wonder why you feel the need to defend yourself against your conscience.
There's always a ready litany going on in your head that you don't get paid enough for what you do. However, when work does come, you whine and grumble about why you've been chosen to do it and how come so-and-so wasn't picked first for the responsibility anyway?
So goes your week in the office, a seemingly alternating cycle of ennui and listlessness, leaving you to wonder if your existence meant anything at all, and, if anybody ever cared anyway. The only perk is anticipating when office hours end, forever looking forward to the weekends and holidays-in-between so you could burrow into your bed where it's okay to pretend the world's dead to you, or on more pessimistic days, that you're dead to the world.
Within this state of melancholia, you ask yourself what went wrong and surely there must be something better meant for you.
You grieve because deep down, you know you still love what you do (and you know you're supposed to be good at it) but you're confounded as to why it's becoming harder and harder to create and deliver - something that was so innate and effortless before.
You spend lackadaisical
minutes eaten by doubt about losing your touch and end up everyday berating yourself that you'll never get it back.
You dread that somehow along the way, you've become an automaton. You've stopped caring about what should really mean something to you and even that dark thought doesn't bother you much anymore because you've gotten so used to feeling it anyway.
You used to call your job your passion but now it's simply work, most of the time, it's just a bother.
There's a specific time of day that you decide you've had enough and you make a resolve to change your situation but then something inane comes along, you forget about your resolve in the meantime, leaving it to crumble without you even knowing it.
Though you do have certain aspirations, either you're making excuses or postponing anything even remotely resembling a forward step until what you deem as the "right time" comes along. You're fooling yourself and you know it.
Such is your drama right now and the worst part, when all is said and done, is that you're still trudging along to the same discordant beats of boredom and all the supposed-to-be intolerable crap and yet, you let yourself be.


Starry-eyed and lightning-struck, you were. Couldn't live without seeing him everyday and if you had your way, you wouldn't leave his side, ever.
Your schedule was based on his, your efforts aimed at his happiness, never mind your own. What made him happy is what made you happy. The high points in your life were counting the proverbial "little things" he did for you. All was well, all was perfect. You may have had a shitty job, you may have had a hell of a week but at the end of the day, you had him, and nothing else mattered.

You wonder if the saying " familiarity breeds boredom" is true. Yet, you try to take it a step further and wonder if familiarity doesn't only breed boredom but contempt, too. You have been together for so long that the sparks have almost all sputtered out, so to speak.
The things you used to love about him are currently your pet peeves.

It's becoming harder and harder to become excited when he's around because everything's become predictable and mundane. You catch him giving other girls the "checking-out" look that guys, while they say it's natural for them, shouldn't do when they're with the supposed "loves of their life".
You try to convince yourself that you're jealous, but deep down, you know you're just angry at what he's become. You try to blame yourself and try to feel appropriately contrite but find out that more and more, you give other guys the "once-over" look too and don't necessarily feel guilty about it.
You want to fix things but you don't know where to start because you're not sure if anything needs fixing anyway. You come to a conclusion that you're both fine, but maybe you don't love each other as much anymore. Still, you try to cling to what once was for the sake of a comfort zone but you belatedly realize that, like too-wet sand, it's useless to hold on to something that can't be possibly held for long. You still haven't reached the stage of letting go but you know that the day looms ever closer and you're not trying that hard to stop it.

You immerse yourself in things not related to your job or your lovelife so you can distract yourself from the dismal reality. You have your music, your art, your activities and even find yourself an elusive subject of infatuation to get you through your days. You drown yourself in pursuits that are trivial to avoid slumping in a corner and shedding frustrated tears. Efforts that may be better spent on your job or your lovelife are wasted on petty things that you delude yourself into believing are important. You hate what you've become and you hate how the world has changed. You want to do something about it but it seems daunting to face the problems on your own. You need help but you don't know who to ask it from and if you did find someone, you wouldn't know how to state your plea anyway. You've become helpless and you constantly wonder when it's going to end, or, if it's going to end at all. As such, you're on the verge of collapsing because you're so tired of grappling with a foe you just couldn't beat and it's taking all your resources to keep going on.
If such is your existence right now, such is mine. Welcome to what I call the "half-life" malady.

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