Tick tock
My lower legs are tight and sore. So are my forearms. My back feels a bit stiff and constantly nags for it be stretched. Went to my "dojo" for Tues Muay Thai class only to find out that the schedules have changed since January. An hour later I'm practicing Jiu jitsu. I'm wearing a liga basketball jersey and fvckn board shorts. 6 of them in Gi's. Nearly pulled an armbar against my spar mate though. Bwhahahaha!
It's 3am and I've been in bed for at least 3 hours already. Funny how just the other day I slept at around 140ish because I was having a SMS convo about how I defeated insomnia years ago. My ego won a pissing contest that puts me to quick sleep. Dork. Haha.
Strategy 2 is to go with the "fvck it, don't sleep" till 4 or 5. Between picking up the sixaxis and hemingway-ing, trying to be intellihente, this piece of shit write up appears.
Dammit I'm still trying to understand why I can't sleep right now! There's no point in running analysis on the science of my sleeping disorder right now. I've already tried my version of counting sheep yoga breathing fusion around 1230 and all I got were sweaty feet. FB trolling: check. Porn: check. In between CIG breaks: check. Black label: do I have coke?
Blanket removed, feet planted, walkingon hardwood floor. Charger yanked from this phone. To the kitchen!
But there is no coke. But it's okay, that's for snorting. Besides I'm a Scotchman, drinkin' my "distilled, blended and bottled in Scotland" poison with ice cubes. In a coffee mug. Thinking of other filler things to write about.
Sip.
Gulp.
Sip and gulp again.
Goddammit I swear if I'm holding you hostage to this article I truly am sorry. The liquor will kick in many minutes from now!
On a diff. note I do wonder if you read the stuff I write. I'm not talking about you, my ex! (Your recent stories are buried in draft mode!!!) I'm talking about - you. You who writes your thoughts every so often. You that puts it out there with your name as a signpost for those who wish to discover. So brave of you and I admire you for that. I say this with no sarcasm. I hide behind potatochief, as if... (Mental convo about who reads this shit anyway, also if that's a good or bad thing... Lalallalala) I'm no judge and I'm invoking my non right to judge. Respect yo.
And if you are reading, (smiling like a pantsy right now) *clears throat* I'm kilig. But I'm thinking you're shaking your head right now, "feeling netong ulul na to". Theoretical conversations that run in my head, which around 130 kanina, was the subject of my wandering thoughts. Specifically how I've been "eavesdropping" on these fake convos and acting on the data gathered from that as if they were actually real. I took a mental note on that that I should stop that practice. That I've been practicing that since grade 2. And more recently, I should listen less to that because my brain's a bit more fvcked now more than ever.
Sip pa more. Clear throat from relapsed smoker's phlegm. Appreciate spelling autocorrect (flem! - I didn't spell it like that it's just easier to... Ahhhh over explained! ). Light a new stick. Bad light. Relight said. Stick. 356. 57 just now.
This night, this warm summer's night, is taking too damn long to end.
It's 3am and I've been in bed for at least 3 hours already. Funny how just the other day I slept at around 140ish because I was having a SMS convo about how I defeated insomnia years ago. My ego won a pissing contest that puts me to quick sleep. Dork. Haha.
Strategy 2 is to go with the "fvck it, don't sleep" till 4 or 5. Between picking up the sixaxis and hemingway-ing, trying to be intellihente, this piece of shit write up appears.
Dammit I'm still trying to understand why I can't sleep right now! There's no point in running analysis on the science of my sleeping disorder right now. I've already tried my version of counting sheep yoga breathing fusion around 1230 and all I got were sweaty feet. FB trolling: check. Porn: check. In between CIG breaks: check. Black label: do I have coke?
Blanket removed, feet planted, walkingon hardwood floor. Charger yanked from this phone. To the kitchen!
But there is no coke. But it's okay, that's for snorting. Besides I'm a Scotchman, drinkin' my "distilled, blended and bottled in Scotland" poison with ice cubes. In a coffee mug. Thinking of other filler things to write about.
Sip.
Gulp.
Sip and gulp again.
Goddammit I swear if I'm holding you hostage to this article I truly am sorry. The liquor will kick in many minutes from now!
On a diff. note I do wonder if you read the stuff I write. I'm not talking about you, my ex! (Your recent stories are buried in draft mode!!!) I'm talking about - you. You who writes your thoughts every so often. You that puts it out there with your name as a signpost for those who wish to discover. So brave of you and I admire you for that. I say this with no sarcasm. I hide behind potatochief, as if... (Mental convo about who reads this shit anyway, also if that's a good or bad thing... Lalallalala) I'm no judge and I'm invoking my non right to judge. Respect yo.
And if you are reading, (smiling like a pantsy right now) *clears throat* I'm kilig. But I'm thinking you're shaking your head right now, "feeling netong ulul na to". Theoretical conversations that run in my head, which around 130 kanina, was the subject of my wandering thoughts. Specifically how I've been "eavesdropping" on these fake convos and acting on the data gathered from that as if they were actually real. I took a mental note on that that I should stop that practice. That I've been practicing that since grade 2. And more recently, I should listen less to that because my brain's a bit more fvcked now more than ever.
Sip pa more. Clear throat from relapsed smoker's phlegm. Appreciate spelling autocorrect (flem! - I didn't spell it like that it's just easier to... Ahhhh over explained! ). Light a new stick. Bad light. Relight said. Stick. 356. 57 just now.
This night, this warm summer's night, is taking too damn long to end.
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