Six floors up

What exactly is the difference between sleepiness and loneliness?

I don't really know. All I can say is, I think of my loneliest thoughts when I'm going home from the office, tired after hours of writing profiles for celebrities I wouldn't probably care about, and just bent on getting home and falling asleep, only to see everything happen all over again.

It's a funny thing, really. Going home after a long day's work is supposedly a cause for celebration. You're a day closer to the paycheck, a day closer to the weekend, and a day closer to whatever dreams you're fueling with your hard-earned cash. Maybe I'm just too tired to think about it, though. What else do you get from doing nothing but stare in front of an LCD monitor for nine-odd hours, figuring out how to hit that 300-word mark, and wondering whether you should be doing something else?

I've lowered my expectations, and it's not because of how mundane my work seems to be (although Glenn's friend Matt begs to differ). Everybody's assured me that I'll end up somewhere else even if right now seems to be more of a stop-gap measure. But that's presuming I want to see myself at the top of my game, becoming whatever defines successful and all that. Ultimately, when I step out of that elevator and put on my earphones, it feels like another dead end. Something must've gone wrong along the way.

I'll be honest. I don't really know what I want.

I know I've said this so many times, but how can I help it? I myself can't see the difference between genuine happiness and mere euphoria, swinging between doing what you find fun and doing what you have to do. Or doing what you think you should do, even if somebody's already warned you that it is, after all, a dead end. I don't know what I want, and yet I follow the path to the very things I never wanted to end up with.

So why push it? Why chase after your aspirations to the comfort room, to that seat in the restaurant, to the bookstore - heck, you don't really read books, but you've been there twice only for the company, only to find yourself alone without nary a goodbye. So it all crumbles down to a goodbye, then, and to how stupid you have been for not doing anything when it all really matters, or at least when you think it all really matters. It's just getting disappointed, after all.

It's funny thinking I thought I had it in stride already. It was in the declaration I silently made in the corridor on the sixth floor, not knowing that what will happen in the next five minutes will define the rest of the night, and perhaps the next few weeks. I say it's the mistakes of the past. I also say it's the mistake of thinking I'll be able to fix them.

"I'm setting myself up for disappointment," I told Carmel this morning.

Obviously, I didn't disappoint myself.

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