cheers to the unknown.

I am facing a severe social burnt out. I cannot stand the small talks across hallway, the howareyous and the goods/okays/notbadness. I just want to hide in my own cave to heal the exhaustion from my own anxiety and the growing hostility toward people around me. The egos over meeting, the paternalistic gesture, the fucking superficial careerism. Sometimes I wonder I could ever feel close to another human being again without developing hidden agendas or unhealthy competitiveness. What I really want to do is to have a break for life. To read literatures. To write. To sleep without anxious dreams. To make love.

My second book is in the process of getting published and I am supposed to be ECSTATIC about it. But I am too afraid to fail in different aspects of my life to be fully committed. Though sometimes I feel art is the only pleasure left in my life and I should be more attentive and tender with it. I am practicing to read fictions again without skimming through key words and digging the theses of the author. I am learning again to enjoy a world of fantasies. Of imagination. At the end that should be what happiness is--the unknown. To not know what the future will look like. To have multiple possibilities.

I notice that I only write when I feel angry/sad/blah. What I really need to do is bring art back to my life. Even just small things. Like the poems in a 30 minute subway ride. Like a text message while walking cross town. I should not use art to vent but to create.

I need a break to do life differently.

So I start having whiskey at night again. Just a little bit in a 5 oz IKEA glass. I read Jonathan Franzen like all the characters are parts of me that I am avoiding to understand. Like a true communist's weapon is not just kapital but her power to create and to pleasure.

Yeah. Pleasure.