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I'm staring out into the night,
And trying to hide the pain.
I'm going to the place where love
and feeling good don't ever cost a thing,
And the pain you feel's a different kind of pain.
I'm going home to the place where I belong,
where your love has always been enough for me.
I'm running from you know I think you got me all wrong,
I don't regret this life I chose for me.
But these places and these faces are getting old,
So I'm going home.

-Chris Daughtry

8:55 AM
Incessant Blogging.

I really ought to be nerding after loafing the whole week since I have one more paper tomorrow.
And well I've the tys laid out in front of me and a mechnical pencil on hand, but somehow after 30 mins, I find myself online and blogging again. It isn't so much so that I have plenty to blog about. On the contrary, I often find myself blogging about the same thing over and over again, rehashing the same shit that happens night after night after night, abeit using different approaches after plenty of restructuring - ensuring that the same phrase doesn't appear twice. But I suppose it's because writing always brought me a certain kind of peace that's similar to the what I feel on the pitch. Solutions are hardly ever found in the midst of a long body of text, but it just makes me feel better for that moment in time when I'm writing, when my mind is too focused on the many little details that goes into the construction of something logical and coherent to think about everything that's messed up or gone wrong, which too often is plenty.

People find solace in different things, from binging to crying to watching telly obssessively. Sometimes I drink too much and play too hard to escape from reality but in my lucid moments, I find myself writing too often, or pushing myself to the brink of utter exhaustion on the field. It's how you lose yourself in something - whether it's in the act of crying, watching soap operas or in downing as much alcohol as you can - to forget about everything else, everything that's screwed in life, everything that's fucked about life. For that short while (maybe a night, maybe an hour, maybe 5 minutes), you don't have to think about how miserable you are, how unfair the world is and how nothing ever seems to go your way.

That isn't to say that I'm always uphappy or upset with life. On the converse, I can think of many instances when I've been overjoyed or perfectly contended with life. Honestly, on the whole, I would say that life's dealt me a pretty fair card. It's just that these happy moments always seem too short, and far too little in comparision to the misery. Besides, we never seem to realise that we were happy until happiness has passed us by, no? Such is the nature of man that we never seem to appreciate what we have, but always magnifying what we don't so that what we don't have becomes the focal point of our existance and everything we do have fades into oblivion. At the end of the day, we lose what we had (e.g. a relationship with our family and friends) and too often, still don't get what we had so desperately yearned for (e.g. a perfect relationship).
Such is the nature of man.

I really have no clue why I chose to blog about such things when it serves me no other purposes than...
1) to enforce the futility of life
2) to highlight the depressing nature of man
3) to force me to analyse impossible situations where there are no solutions
4) and to confuse me even further because the knowledge you possess doesn't make life's choices any easier. In fact, I think it just screws you up more.

You see. I told you I was weird.