03:13am

braindump

It’s midnight

Scratch that, it’s exactly 03:13

I’m awake

I’m doing that stupid thing that I do when my mood is shifty, listen to depressing music and wallow.

I want to talk to someone on the phone, but I don’t know any fellow nocturnal creatures like myself.

The other thing I want to do is drive, but I can’t bear having to wake my gateman and then the guys at the main gate too, so I swallow down the second thing that’ll get me out of this funk.

I’m thinking of everything but nothing at the same time. Endlessly scrolling while searching for dopamine. Can’t find it on twitter, or TikTok or Snapchat.

Thinking about life, future, career. How for the first time in my life, I have enough direction in my life to make a five year plan but I want to start small. Two-year plan

I still really want to drive. It clears my mind in a way that nothing else can. I find it amazing how I feel things about myself before I try it. I knew I’d love driving as a de-stressor before I even learnt to drive.

I need money. I am a level of broke that I haven’t been ever. It’s scary. The kind of life I want to live, how do I fund it?

Degree or passion? My way or my mum’s way?

I feel like I’m simultaneously writing all the time and yet not at all. Anytime someone calls me, I’m writing or thinking of writing yet there are no posts.

List of things to write

1. Queer one

2. Queer two

3. Pocket launch

4. Comp

5. Mag

6. Review one

I keep thinking to myself, how deep into creative can I go. Do I learn sound engineering, become a radio host? I have no plan for this. I need a plan. I need a mood board.

I need to drive.

I need a distraction.

There is no Wi-Fi. I find it harder to write when there’s no internet. Which is weird cause I don’t use the internet to write. It’s just a mental thing of perfect conditions. I think I might need an actual diagnosis.

I want to watch a movie, but I refuse to Netflix with the way MTN steals and I want to read a book but that’s a three-to-four-hour commitment. I will fall asleep and drop the book by morning and probably not finish it.

I need money.

I need it so bad.

I haven’t shopped in so long I’m having withdrawals.

I miss being able to afford things.

I need to make a goal list.

I need to have things to reach for, work towards.

At times it feels like my goal post keeps shifting, changing who I am. Changing what I want. And I can’t help if these changes are truly me or just me conforming. It’s confusing.

I’ve always wanted to be an author. Since I was reading Wattpad. But now it seems like I’m far from that. It seems like I’m churning out review after review, working towards the goal of building a portfolio and ignoring the author by early twenties goal a version of me set.

I think I discovered the reality of what it takes to get published that I decided to pivot. That and the more I get older and have more pride in my culture and heritage the more I divulge from the types of books I thought I would publish. Those ideas feel ingenuine to who I want to present myself as.

But who am I really?

I saw something online that your state of disarray mirrors your mental state. That if your room is scattered, your mental is frazzled. If your office desk is a mess, you’re stressed. If you have an overflowing wardrobe and refuse to let go of old pieces, you have refused to fully let go of the old you.

My wardrobe definitely has things I don’t wear anymore. But what if I wear them.

Fuck, I really wish I was talking to someone right about now.

The country’s economy is tanking every day. I need money. I wish the country was actually doing well. I hate that people are forced to leave. I also can’t believe I’m saying this.

People change. Minds change. Ideologies change.

Do I still want to be an author? I never want to let go of that dream. I want to fulfill all my dreams. I want a life with no major regrets. I’ve wanted to an author for so fucking long I can’t imagine dropping it. I don’t want to. But it’s not aligning with me right now.

Okay scratch that. Comp and Mag need fiction. And I still have so much fun plotting fiction. My main issue is putting it to paper. Hopefully I can do that for those two.

I think you’ve read enough of my thoughts. I have vented enough. But since I still feel drivey and yappey and weird, I’ll say one last thing. I wish I had a blunt with me. They shut my brain down. Let me be awake but my brain is off for once.

Until then I’ll resume dopamine searching.