On Trying to Fix A Fucked Up Body Clock

Someone told me before that adulting, or being an adult, is a pain in the ass. I can’t stress enough how accurate he was (though I’m not even technically at the age to be considered as an adult).

2016 was like a trial version of a software. It’s like that brief paragraph you read at the back of a thriller novel, providing quite a spoiler that makes you think of so many alternate endings, unless you read the book itself.

I really am not certain if 2017 will be a continuation of that “trial” year where you try so many things that seem new; things that make you anxious or scared to try. But you know, unlike a software application, you can’t just quit the adulting life if you didn’t like the trial version of it. I think the best way to do is to prompt yourself for an upgrade.

You can either upgrade yourself as frequent as iPhone does, or you can take Nokia’s pace and go hiatus for a moment while you prep up for a comeback that will raise everybody’s interest. It depends on you, we’re all on our own pace anyway. Unlike phones, the comparability of people to one another isn’t truthfully absolute, hence the only person you can compare yourself with, is yourself as well.

I really have no outline to follow for this blog post, nor do I have a topic that can cohesively integrate everything I just said.

Anyways, it’s currently 10:19 PM on my clock and I should be preparing myself for sleep later. I didn’t know that fixing ones’ body clock would be a pain in the ass too. I spent almost two hours just literally lying in bed last night, staring at the ceiling lit by a reflection of our neighbor’s on-and-off light bulb. I felt sleepy and tired, yet my mind is occupied of so many things. The one I said earlier, that adulting is a pain in the ass, is one of those things. Another thing is this incomplete poem verse that has been unfinished since last year:

Love me like you mean it, even though you never will.
Kiss me like the sunset on an ocean laying still.
I will never be departed from my thoughts of you;
Unless I say it, and feel the need to mean it too.

Those words sort of conspired in my head while I was taking a shower before, it’s been months and still, I cannot find the inspiration to finish it. I attempted to before, but it only looked like a poem with a forced rhyming scheme.

I really have no outline to follow for this blog post, nor do I have a topic that can cohesively integrate everything I just said. It’s already 10:32 PM and I just thought of posting one a while ago, since I can’t force myself to sleep because I hate wasting time.

Well, at least Chet Faker’s Talk is Cheap and Frank Ocean’s Super Rich Kids pleases my ears while my eyes are otherwise because of lack of sleep.



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