The day before it all begins again

Sunday afternoon. I'm seated in front of the computer like I always do. Four straight hours of reading through Lostpedia to get a leg up on next week's work, followed by some playlist organization, during which I think to myself, maybe I should start reading Pitchfork more often.

Another wasted Sunday afternoon.

Okay. First of all, I'm not complaining about not being out of the house. Honestly, I prefer staying in. You'll probably have the same attitude when you live far away from urban centers - and yes, I'm counting Alabang - and when none of your friends bother to invite you to anything. Also, you can't really afford to go out often at this point in your life. I should often remind myself that this is no longer college, although considering my theory that my development as a person is delayed, then I am still going through that everybody else my age has long passed by.

But I'm seated here, and I feel like I'm wasting my Sunday afternoon away, writing down blog entries and wondering why nobody bothers to talk to me unless I pretty much coerce them. (Right now I'm chatting with Alyssa. Or, technically, I was.) Seeing people talk about doing things that's not sitting in front of the PC and writing down blog entries make me feel bad. And that always happens on Sunday afternoon, as it slowly turns to Sunday evening, and you're told to sleep early to wake up the following day. A Monday. The day it all begins again.

And then I return to work and don't feel that terrible. Well, depending on the circumstances, yes. This Friday should make me feel very terrible.

I found myself turning in eleven-hour workdays again last week. It's finale season. Imagine juggling five big shows in one day. It's inevitable that you end up staying at the office until seven in the evening, cropping photos, not counting the fact that you came in at eight in the morning or earlier, still cropping photos. And then the radio talks about a new study, that people who work up to eleven hours a day have a bigger risk of dying from heart disease. "The key," the news reader said, "is for workers to have a proper work-life balance."

I bet that news reader was talking to me. Or I felt bad for myself again, the same way I felt some pain in my chest, possibly imagined.

But yes, I did feel it. I felt like I was screwing myself over for all the hours I wasted in front of the computer, typing in blog entries when I should be making the most out of my life, preferably by putting it at risk. Apparently conversations in coffee shops don't cut it.

Another wasted Sunday afternoon.

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