Yeah, well, first of all, I've been busy. I had a guest over. Just a few days, but I had to reactivate the muscles that have laid dormant since I started living alone, which took some getting used to.
Also, I've been writing elsewhere. I don't know. That seems more fulfilling? Although it does risk boxing me into certain genres. I mean, I've done what passes as cultural criticism before, but it's also a muscle that needs to be reactivated again.
Also, as always, I have been writing a lot of things in my head for this blog. At some point - inspired by my recent trips to Singapore and Hong Kong - I found myself with several concepts in my head, and of course those are still concepts. I thought I had a spurt of inspiration. Well, true, but I then had a spurt of procrastination. You know the drill.
That meant I've been writing a lot of things in my head today. Christmas eve! Me writing! And even then I wasn't writing this essay. I have something else in mind for this thing, but you know tomorrow - it is tiring, with you dealing with relatives whose only concern is to make themselves superior to you. That, and I was actually writing a newspaper column in my head, because my next one is set to be published on New Year's day, which means an earlier deadline this week. I know I could've written it in advance because these things can be evergreen, but, well, I wasn't inspired on that front.
What have I been doing with my life exactly?
Being lazy, I suppose. Taking a bit of an improv approach, saying "yes and" in my head and unearthing traumas through Clive Owen and Julia Andrews. Pondering what to buy for my cat with the gift cards I got. Pondering the meaning, or lack thereof, of "we". It's no surprise I'm not checking in. None of these is interesting, yeah?
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