~ Anais Nin
Have had a crazy past few days which only started winding down at noon today. Projects all piling up and converging together. My saturday felt like the whizzing by of an express train; typing away the whole of the morning, stressing over the freaking bio project which by the way still makes very little sense to me, and rushing to school for a meeting and rushing back for liqa' at Abang Yan's place, and only finishing at midnight. Got home and started despairing over the project again but went to sleep anyway and woke up and started typing again. And finally got done at 11 am this morning.
Sometimes... in between doing all these inane daily routines and chasing deadlines, I feel like we lose our sense of self. Like we become machines or something. Doing passionless tasks, and running and running after that something; and losing sight of what's important, what's real. I think maybe some people actually enjoy the high speedy life. I personally don't. And I suppose some people actually do what they're truly passionate about, so that's wonderful. But really, how many of us do. I ask you.
I don't think I can be very coherent about my thoughts tonight, but this sketch from xkcd says a little.
Stupid, amazing worlds inside us. I like that. Like that poet, Walt Whitman, who said, "I am large. I contain multitudes."
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