99:59:59 – 99:32:03 (00:56 – 01:25, 2019.11.03)
I watched a few seconds went by before I started writing.
It’s past midnight. My room isn’t dark. It isn’t well lit, but it isn’t dark. I am somewhat physically exhausted, but the cars on Broadway seem never to know when to stop. I am half-laying on the bed. My hair is still wet. I am combing it with my fingers as I write. It’s still a bit wet, but I can sleep with it. It might give me a headache tomorrow. But since I am probably going to get a headache tomorrow from staying up and the noise of the cars anyway, (I was going to write “what matters?”, but then I chickened. I do have a life to be afraid) I’d better wait into the longer night.
My room is still messy, probably dirty as well, from my last trip. I have a shirt, a pair of jeans, a jumper, a pair of sweatpants, two jackets, a scarf hanging on the coat racks attached to the closet doors. There is a blanket of laundry, dirty; there’s also a clean one that I just did today. They look totally the same, how can they be told apart?
On the other side of the bed, just less than two feet away from where I am, it’s occupied by things. Big things, small things, necessary things, useless things. There’s my bus pass, my cock ring, my German textbook, my other books, my notebooks, some pieces of paper, a check receipt.
I can feel my feet are warming up. It’s not a cold night at all and I don’t have the heat on either. My hands start sweating from the temperature, maybe also from the excitement of writing “cock ring”. It is laying there, so peacefully, like a gun or a wedding ring. I don’t have either of them. I haven’t had either of them. Will I have any of them? One of them? Two of them? All of them?
I picked up a string of hair from my pillow. My hair is so long now. I can wrap it around my finger over six times. I hear murmuring from the walls. I always hear the hemming of the buildings. Sometimes I can’t really tell if they are from the room or from the room in my head. They are like the cheap white noise machine that actually keeps you awake. But the sounds from the road chase the sounds of the building away. I don’t mind either of them taking dominance. I am plugging my ears. It took me a while as my fingers glaze with sweats. I found more strings of hair. Once I find one, I will find more.
I think that also tells about love, too, but I am just guessing. There is a glass of water by the bed, I took a sip, the rest is for the 5-o’clock me.
90:16:31 – 89:37:23 (09 :43 – 10:19, 2019.11.03)
I didn’t wake up at 5 from my thirst. It was already 8 something when the light came through my window. It’s dazzling. I forgot to close the curtain last night before I went to bed. No, I also woke up against the light yesterday. I forgot to close the curtain the night before, and I am still paying for my own deeds.
Before I turned my screen on, I saw my own reflection on the monitor. My lips are dry, and rosy red. They are not carving a light-hearted curve. They look arrogant. My hair is a mess from my bad sleeping posture. I randomly pull it behind my ear on the right, but I can still see a few rebellious ones going on the directions of their own goings. I am still wearing my earplugs, but they don’t stop me from listening to the beams in my head. It’s Sunday, but the traffic still goes like any other day. Buses don’t come as often so I can only hear that waning sound of the bus engine every half an hour. There was one that just went by. It’s full of churchgoers.
It’s supposed to be 10:52, but because of this the daylight saving thing, I am not sure if I am one hour behind or finally caught up to the passing of time. I am half sitting on my bed with two flat pillows behind my back. It’s really uncomfortable. My body has been folded on to the shape of space between the mattress and the wall, like a bag of sand slumping onto the corner. I am caught in-between space that has no humanity but can’t be filled up with my own existence. I am not different from any other objects in the room, waiting to be removed.
I finally drank the water from the glass that was saved for the 5-o’clock myself. The alarm was snoozed, snoozed, snoozed, dismissed. I was awake before it went off. I watched some games from my phone, checked out some photos on Instagram, then watched some more videos, a porn, then jerked off, cleaned up, snooze, snooze. It becomes a ritual of the morning. It takes a while to do things without satisfactions or pleasures.
Do I have a problem getting out of my bed? I used to, but how about this morning? I have plenty to do today yet I am still laying here, counting the digits on the clock. I have a problem with myself using “problem” in the first sentence. I have much guilt but I have realized this isn’t one of my sins. I am in a natural stage of a human being on a sunny morning. I am not energized. I am half awake. I am experiencing the state of my body, flat, wrapped, warm, sore, sticky. The laptop on my laps is a mountain to climb. I have a parcel to claim from the 7-11 on the other side. It’s not open until noon. I have time. I don’t go to church anyway.
I am ready to climb the mountain. I need to put my shorts on. I need to do my morning business. I will bring my phone with me and check it from time to time. I hear DJS is getting ready for work. She’s 72 working for a 92 herself. I am waiting for a text from a friend.
I check my phone again, and it says it’s filth o’clock.
78:46:54 – 78:15:34 (21:10 – 21:41, 2019.11.03)
I took a shower this morning after I jumped off the bed. I tried to avoid getting my hair wet again as I did wash it the night before. I got a new shampoo.
My stomach is grunting. I wish it has come earlier when I was doing another piece of writing, but I guess that was the point of writing. I come to a more rational stage perhaps because I left the bed. Or perhaps it has not yet deepened into the night or reached the morning. Clothes do help gather a sense of logic and reasoning. It also puts off passion and wild wonderings.
I did another laundry today, but immediately, there will be another one. I forgot to check the pockets before washing, and some stuff was scattered around. A chopstick, three cards, a USB drive, and a clump of tissue that’s been shattered onto every twisted and bent surface. I didn’t worry about any of those as I had a strange sense that everything was alright. It was not talking from experience, not a prediction, not a hope, not an optimistic guess. I knew, and I would be ok either way though everything was alright.
I am playing the recordings from the Yukon River. I watched the newly made film about the murder on the infamous Oriental Express. I had the last piece of pie for dessert. I said “oops” in the recording. My body tells me it’s already 10:30 yet the clock has just caught up to 9:30.
I always think daylight saving is an idiotic idea. The invention of time was not much wiser, let alone scaling oneself in such a construct. I would measure my time with the length of my hair, my sleep, my heartbeat, my nails, my exhaustion. I wouldn’t want that to be universal. It shouldn’t be anyway.
I put on the pretentious layer when I have parted from myself. I block myself from looking for myself. There is so much to consider, and I am lost in the circles of directions. Whichever way I take, I will come back by this path.
I should leave some blank space for decency to fill. I will look for escapes after finishing my circle.
I didn’t cook tonight. This is the intended blank.
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58:51:10 – 58:23:21 (17:05 – 17:33, 2019.11.04)
I am on the bus to my German class, but it broke down, I am sitting in the darkness looking out to the street, not because of the lights, it’s just what I am facing. The driver told us something that no one understood, and he left the bus, walked towards the rear, did something there, and returned. Not too long, the light came back along with the heat. The bus took a turn onto Hastings, going towards the sunset.
The shelf has finally arrived. I waited for a while, not sure if the UPS person would come back again today or he decided to leave it for tomorrow. I checked everything I could find, but I didn’t have his number. It was a private number when he called me this morning. I have patience also anxiety, and a bit of excitement undeniable. I signed the receipt and took the box upstairs to the studio. I opened it with a cutter and used a pair of scissors to unknot the zip ties. The metal frames dropped back into the box, some of them, bursting a loud smashing sound. I jumped. I decided to leave the construction for tomorrow. I will leave it to tomorrow.
It only took 15 minutes for the bus to get to Harbour Centre. It's only long enough to write down what was before but too short to know how I am here.
I am early for the German class, and few minutes later, a student in the higher-level class, L, arrived as well. He’s here to continue his A2.1 class, but he’s the only person currently in that class. Iso- was hoping me to join him. He learns German for his girlfriend.
DJS insists that I come back to continue my German study for boy-oriented reasons. She’s not entirely wrong. I have some silly and realistic goals for myself, and I also see the practical benefits of acquiring another language. I like how I see the world when I am learning. Learning is fun, I like learning. The teacher is mostly late though. She blames the traffic of the rush hour Vancouver. I don’t blame her for her blames.
54:07:04 – 53:56:03 (21:49 – 22:00, 2019.11.04)
I am suspending in the air. The Skytrain came to a slow stop on the way to Science World Station. Everyone else in the car seems to have gotten used to it. I have the fear of height, but at this moment, I catch a sense of belonging. I am not feeling settling, my stomach cringes, I don’t know if I am safe. I know I am not safe, but I am fine.
Then the train starts moving as I write. Then it stops, starts, stops, goes, slows down, stops, goes a bit more, stops. I get to my exit but I haven’t gotten home.
15:36:57 – 15:19:03 (12:20 – 12:37, 2019.11.06)
I started a few seconds behind as I had to check a Facebook message first. I didn’t have to, but I did, not for the person waiting for my answer, but for the writings that were going to happen. It’s happening and I don’t want to get bothered by the sight of the message. I didn’t answer the message.
I was a bit late to my editing session this morning, about half an hour. I feel bad, I said sorry to AM when I arrived. AM said not to worry about that since I would be here the whole day. “Don’t worry about it”, said AM.
I am waiting for the video to be exported. The room at VIVO is quiet. I can only hear the buzzing of the computer. It’s a Mac that I don’t normally use. It took me a bit to get warmer. Now the ventilation has joined the chorus. Someone washes their hands, whistles. Someone is hammering, drilling, walking with heels. Wait, that’s still hammering, with lighter, faster tapes. Someone was laughing, but now it has stopped, then it starts talking. Their own words blurred their own words. I wonder if they are the same person.
I typed “I” and paused awhile. I was. Sounds. “It’s inbearable”. Or at least that was what I heard. The sound went silent and so did my mind. I enjoyed a brief moment of solidarity while my mind struggled to pick up words to fight.
I could go explain my email, I could go pay.
00:00:00 (03:57, 2019.11.07)
It went off at 3 something a.m., like a bomb. I jumped awake, rolled over, reached to the phone. I thought it was the morning alarm. I had no anticipations when it would come. I set the timer to 99:59:59 and let go off my hands. I was in a 99:59:59 freefall. I was stressed about it when I was conscious, I concerned about it, I thought of it, consistently. I didn’t know I could sleep with this, but I did, as sweet as I had always done.
The dreams after were different. I met with a childhood crush, a dear friend. I went to a restaurant with my brother and sister-in-law. He wanted to eat a baby dolphin. We went to a night market for lunch instead. I was held hostage at gunpoint along with my parents. I found a script, it said my grandfather and father would die on the scene. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t remember the dreams I had before the explosion.
On my way to VIVO, I dropped my phone under a bus that I was going to board. I stopped by a store to look for a red sweater. I saw a dark orange one, but I don’t have matching socks for it.
I received an email from VS. He’s returned to France. I deleted an app that took up much storage but I didn’t use it for long. I struggled to pick my outfit in the morning. I waited for a bus for 5 minutes and took the other one. I got compliments on my money sack. He asked me where I got it, and I said the flea market.
After falling one second to 100 hours, I’ve landed on now.