I can’t believe we’re already in November. Two months later, 2018 would be officially behind us.
I wonder what I have achieved exactly in 2018 other than being exhausted by logistics, getting fucked over by administrative bullcrap and now fallen sick thanks to the germs from my hometown. Homecoming kiss has never been so contagious.
I’ve never felt that I’m running against time as I do right now.
Hamilton’s Non-Stop echoes in my ears:
- Why do you write like you’re running out of time?
- Write day and night like you’re running out of time?
- Every day you fight, like you’re running out of time?
As I dragged my bone-tired body out of bed today, I’d slept for some 13 hours yesterday including a three hour nap later in the afternoon. And yet, I still felt dizzy. I skimmed the side effects of the drugs that the doctor prescribed me yesterday. Drowsiness, check. Lack of energy, check. Double whammy, check.
I vow that I will take good care of my body so I can run faster, write more. And yet, right now, on the second day of November, I can only take it slow. One step at a time.
Lesson learned: Take care of your body so it will take you further.