I hate being sick. I fucking hate it. Okay, who doesn't, but seriously it's like all the time I spend procrastinating means nothing cause now that I'm sick I start missing those things I all of a sudden have the urge to do but don't feel up for it. You ever get that? Anyone? Really?
Though I've been like this since Saturday, which is no excuse for not posting anything for almost two months (we will talk about this later), at first I thought I was just hungover from the night before, not uncommon since my buddy's band was playing Saturday night and going to their gigs hungover has become something of a tradition. The worst part is I'm not actually in a feverish delirium, inspiring Poe-worthy, morbid thoughts, bed-bound and semi-comatose. I say worst part because the way I'm feeling is like a never-ending hangover. Headache, nausea and a general mopy tiredness that seems to have to no intention of subsiding any time soon. With that said, I did manage the small feat of cooking for eleven people yesterday(an arugula and spinach salad with strawberries and bacon and a balsamic vinaigrette, meatballs on toasted brioche with a caramelized apple sauce and penne with shrimp,mushrooms and curry for the main course, impressive I know) and making eleven panna cotta set diagonally in individual glasses, a process that felt a lot like diffusing a bomb. In retrospect, my Speakeasy 20s-themed birthday-party which had me hosting twice than many people and required turning my entire living room into a bar seemed a lot easier.
This whole time that I've been away from my blog, going out, taking weekend trips, hosting parties, taking on tasks for the sheer challenge of them, but mostly sulking at home, there's been this sense of hopelessness, for lack of a better word. Nothing is too terrible, or too exciting, meaning there's nothing really worth writing about and that, instead of making me restless or creating an urgency I so long for, is quite frankly putting me in a dreadful quick-sand of a rut. I've taken a step back for far too long and getting back on the saddle seems impossibly tedious at this point. In fact everything seems like tedious work. The tiresome reality of every fleeting day is dulling my senses and I don't feel in the least ready to face the fact that I must get into a head-on collision with this reality in order to change it. Ugh! Alas, it is up to me to acknowledge that I haven't been robbed of my talent nor have I lost myself in the mundanity of repetitiveness but rather have dimmed the switch of an otherwise brilliant light. A quarter-life crisis I think kids these days are calling it and I know I mustn't be the only one. And if getting sick is helping me realise that, well then there's definitely something wrong with me... which I am now strangely okay with. And at the end of the day if Sam Smith can win
all the Grammy's, then so can I! Not win all the Grammy's that is, but at least make it through writing a post on a blog not more than five people read. Seriously, if you too are experiencing a similar situation than post a comment, share your feelings and become the lucky sixth+ person who reads my blog!
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