I have all these feelings that I want to express but I just can't seem to string the right words together, that conveys how I feel, at least not adequately. I wish I was more eloquent.

Before committing an immoral act there is always that defining moment just right inbetween the foreplay and the actual wrongdoing (not like the foreplay isn't just as inappropriate). To go ahead? Or not?

That split second you ask yourself that question is the clearest split second you will have in the whole course of commiting the crime, and if you don't stop right there, it'd be too late.

Generally, I think selfish people are happy people, or happier than people who aren't as selfish at least. Because they constantly seek self-gratification, even at the expense of others, and the selfish people feel bad (some don't even) but because their main concern is themselves, they won't bother with feeling bad for you for more than a minute or two. That's intervals of 1 or 2 minutes of unhappiness, and happiness the rest of the way because they are fulfilling their own needs and satisfying their personal desires.

So if that's the case, why do the rest of us have to be so considerate for.

Forgive my self-indulgence and my absolute lack of updates in the last couple of months, but I'm in deperate need of a channel of relief.

I've been so used to just surviving, I forgot what living felt like. What being happy does to you inside. And it was good while it lasted, and then it faded and the sadness set back in worse than before.

I truly wanted to believe that I'm as magnanimous as I make myself out to be, but truth is, I'm as selfish and unreasonable with my partner as I am with myself.

I've been fighting how I've been feeling for longer than I can remember. When I'm angry, I fight to prevent my blood from surging out of my popping veins. When I'm upset, I fight to try and keep my head above the water. And in the little pockets of time I feel that very faint impression of bliss, I fight to keep reality from stealing it away. But above all, I fight the tears back. The tears triggered by the thought that we've already lost it all.

I'm thoroughly worned out by all the fighting.

The sinking feeling you get in the pit of your stomach combined with a perpetual literal pain in the heart is the worst feeling on earth. Forget starvation or chemo therapy. That's all child's play.

I hate you for having done what you did. I hate you for who you are. I hate that you don't get it. I hate that you never spared a thought for me. I hate that you're such a fucking hedonist. I hate that the thought of you still stirs me.

Will it finally start to get better? After such a soulful release triggered by an episode of a drama series. Is it me or, somehow, we always relate to on-screen characters and their situations? Or are we just more sensitive to them when we're vulnerable.

What a start to the year of the bunny.

I miss writing. I truly do. Writing for the new job can be grueling and, not to mention, stressful. My boss commends my English. I, on the other hand, am not too sure she's thinking straight. Or reading straight. I miss writing for myself. Jotting down my every whim and fancy, no thought required. I also miss writing essays, and the worst part could be that I don't find it distressing that I do. Geek maybe?

Whenever a year is coming to a close, we tend to involuntarily do a mental list of resolutions or changes we want with the new year. Or at least I know I do. All I really want for this year is to be assured I've made the right choice for both my career and my life. But after stumbling through the month of January, I'm left with nothing more than tousled hair and an obliterated heart.

No passion no life.

The disease is truly human ambition, human emotion. The disease is also the truancy of contentment, the relentless regrets.

No, maybe the disease is just my greed and my ill-considered choices.

What a way to usher into 2011. What happened to all the customary good cheer and refreshing optimism? Well, quite obviously not for this new year, or just not for me. If I were a stranger reading this, I would just drown in the abyss of melancholy that is this entry and tire before I reach the end.

Which I have.