I'm sleepy but my mind keeps me from leaving my desk to approach my bed that has become so appealing to this moment. A lot of things have been running into my head that even if I hate to listen to music while writing, I prefer to have some sort of distraction around. I was illogically hoping that it may help me organize my thoughts which have always been in my entire life a mess of jumbled so-and-so. I am becoming increasingly frustrated with it that it has come to upset me to a considerable degree now. It has reflected on my writings. That, I admit, is the root of all my disappointments about the matter.

        My disppointments were triggered by my netsurfing-snoopy attitude. I didn't really feel very happy to come across a blog site of a writer whose identity I have gone curious about since we have some friends in common. I use the term friends here to make my writing life easy –meaning, I don't want to go into the details anymore. I don't know why in the world had she had an effect on me that much and that sudden when I know a lot of good writers out there who are better and, you know –better. I have nothing personal against her definitely. I haven't met her yet. In a way, actually, that should be sort of a compliment for her knowing the effect she had on me.

          I don't want to sleep because I don't want all the writers out there to leave me further and further behind.  I want to keep my pace with them in a feasible distance so that someday, perhaps, I can compare myself to them. It has always been my dream to be a good writer for a simple reason that I want to give my life –my experiences, thoughts, emotions and the people i met, a clear account of things. All I want to do now is to just write my heart out and that is what I have been doing. 

         I feel frustrated that often, if not always, I want to delete, throw, erase or anything I needed to do just to get rid of whatever I have written. Reading it again after a few days or a week perhaps, just like what good writers do, it felt like my work needed a total revision. It was like starting over if ever I decide to write about it again. Almost always my work is a mess of disorganized vague thoughts and ideas clumsily put together. I would always wish that I had expressed myself clearer.

         A lot of things are ruuning into my head and I want to write them all down. The music wasn't helping so I had decided to pause it for a moment since it really isn't effective for me. I need all the silence I could get that even the sound of the ceiling fun distracts me from time to time. I want to be a good writer but I know that I'm far from being one yet. But I'm not losing hope. Not in a million years.