Work.

My way of dealing with pressure consists of ignoring it until I can no longer do anything about it, because I hate the clenching in my stomach and feeling on the edge of panicking from the great possibility of failure and more pressure. 

Avoidance is the easy way out. It also makes me feel like a larger and larger pile of shit every time I do it, but at the time, it's easy. Even if I have to deal with the emotional backlash later. 

I don't think I'll be a good parent, if it ever comes down to it. 

I feel like I need to complain and complain. This opportunity is crazy amazing especially because it was luck. And while it's moving so quick, it's also so restrictive, consuming. The first two are annoying, the last one down right frightening. I never thought I would be doing this, see. Never considered it a possibility and never saw myself doing this other than a hobby I dabbled with. 

I just. Can't. Don't. Know. What to do with myself. 

This started because I was lazy. I thought I would be okay with the boring stuff. Four months later I couldn't snatch up the offered opportunity fast enough, despite lacking knowledge. Then I became stuck in the middle, like being shown the sky and the cage all at once. Being prodded for better, faster without knowing where it all leads to, then a sudden shock to the collar for trying the wrong direction. 

I hate being blamed for a general disorganization, thoughtlessness, and rashness. Opportunity to make it big quickly is great, but, fuck, the nebulae of expectations, structure, position, and general state of things is driving me up the walls. 

There is never time to figure things out, what with being kept at maximum capacity 99% of the time, and these vague expectations translated to underachievement and I can't fucking stand it. 

I may have fallen in.

Mood dipped.

My mind aches but refuses to rest.

Also, where the fuck is the Lenovo's charging cord?! Kinda need it.

Introductions

Sometimes, I think this would be a good way to introduce myself, on the back of the card in smallprint:

Hello, thank you for saying hello to me, even if I may not like you or have prejudices towards you because of your habits and frame of mind. I am not very good at maintaining contact and have self-worth issues but is actually inwardly emotionally needy. It causes me problems because I also hate superfluous social niceities and admire people who don't give a fuck, so I tend to leave myself a bit stranded in trying to seem coolly aloof. 

If you don't mind me dropping off the planet and get into (not diagnosed) depressive episodes, do come talk to me; people are interesting, and whether or not I like you, the chances are I'm more likely to just avoid responding to stuff that I disagree with rather than chew you out. Unless you want me to. I can do that too. Or discuss things with you, if you promise to try not to be offended, because I've been trained to not be offending. 

Profound boredom.

Low energy, high irritability, low self-esteem..

...low motivation and libido, negative world views, suicidal thoughts.

I have started to compose a suicide letter in my head. The biggest thought that is keeping me from actually planning for the occasion is guilt. No one should carry the burden of my actions; I don't want them to have it. They shouldn't need to. The mess-up is me and it's not their fault. My letter will attempt to convince anyone who matters that I have made myself to be the piece of waste that I am, therefore they should not care. Erase me completely and achieve something better, because they deserve it.

I am good at shamming okay. There is one person I hate shamming to and so I don't, whom I end up cutting as a result. Then I feel worse for allowing myself to injure this being that is mostly made of patience and perfection.

So at once I lash out as a sign for help and despise myself for being selfish and an attention whore.

I don't like labeling myself as "depressed". In this internet era, it mostly translates to being a bit sad. The word no longer carries the weight of someone who has to fight random bouts of tears. I can't label myself having a major depressive disorder either, because one does not diagnose oneself. Besides, I can still get out of bed, though I hate every moment of it and can't wait to get back.

Admitting that I am depressed feels too much like a passing, attention grabbing remark.

So I don't say it.

I had thought that if I just not give into tears, I would be better. It isn't.

When I don't put up an effort to sham and put inflection and energy in my voice, it becomes small and monotonous. Expressions are hard to maintain. Others think I'm pissed at them and goes away. Why is that when others make non-committal noises and gets into these moods, I feel like I'm getting hurt, but I also hurt when I'm the one doing it? Do they understand that to me, it means that they don't care for me at all? Why is that they don't seem to get the message that I'm only using their mode of communication to say "I feel shitty, please help"?

Sometimes I have to make the effort to breathe.

I lash out might be because I want someone to go past my my anger and tell me that they still love me even though I'm behaving terribly, because my usual pleasant self is not all they care about.

After all these years, I still have the same damned insecurities and issues.

Displacement, not that other mature thing.

First dream I would categorize as nightmare rather than a thriller I've had in fifteen or eighteen years.

In the dream I bawled and cried and then was strong because I couldn't do it in real life.

Feeling slightly better, but thinking about the dream makes me want to cry.

What do you do when it's clutching to your shoulders and chest and you  don't want to admit it but you believe what it says to be true despite what you know being more true.

Sometimes i feel like a good cry will make me feel better

To get rid of that constriction in my chest and the polluting thoughts. Maybe, I keep thinking, maybe a good cry will disperse the impending depression, that it will give me a bit more ground so I don't feel like I'm about to totter into a pit at every which shuffle.

Or maybe I'm already down part way, waiting for rescue, looking into and feeling the unending pit in every thought. Maybe it'll be easier on the world if this trap just goes away, my only contribution to serve the purpose.

Tingly Feelings

When my palm tingles, I get nervous. Is it actually acting up or just remembering the time when all of it was one giant blister?

Apparently that was not the bottom

Shitty day turned into shitty weekend lead into shitty house situation lead into shittier day lead to shitty food.

Everything has been shitty. I really can't name anything that made me happy in the past week.

Temporarily amused, yes. Good mood? No, not by far.

Guilt.

Everywhere, around every corner
The direction does not matter.

Fuck I'm going to sound melodramatic but I have no other way to describe it

Sometimes the hate and the negativity pools and pools and the more I wrestle with it, the more it threatens to overwhelm me. But I can't let it spill out because no one deserves my shit. I may indulge it once or twice, excusing myself with possible pity given. But when a habit formed, it feels too much like I'm vengefully pulling in the one person I allow to come close. Guilt then rises up like swamp gas.

Sometimes, feel like I have too much nameless hate and frustration.

Distantly I recognise possible causes, reasons, repercussions.

I refuse to let it taint everything around me.

But I can't will it or reason it away.

I eat it up and let it eat me up.

The sludge sticks to my insides, thick, churning.

A wriggling, volatile mass that I don't know what to do with.

Crying is just indulging it; it solves nothing.

I live on Tumblr now

That is pretty much it.

Clay pots, delivered to your door.

I've been tempted to order delivery ever since I found out Pizza Hut, McDonald's, and KFC all deliver in HK and China, but there were never occasions for it. Yesterday father told us to all go home for dinner, didn't buy any dinner ingredients, and we were completely out of food because father doesn't seem to like stocking up, so we decided to order out.

Clay Pot 1: Bean curd with pork

The Analysis: We ordered from this HK-styled clay pot place that stuck advertising on our door a few days ago. Much to our relief and surprise they serve their clay pot rice along with the clay pot  and not in a plastic bag (real fear, based on Mother's experience) or even a disposable container. It was 9pm, fairly late by mainland Chinese standards, and they said it'd take them about half an hour to deliver.

Clay Pot 3: Preserved pork belly and Chinese sausage

The food ended up arriving twenty minutes early, warm and fairly good-smelling. We ordered three orders of clay pot rice, with braised beef with daikon, bean curd with pork, and preserved meats, respectively.  Surprisingly, for  ¥14-¥18 each, there were plenty of vegetables and meat, not drenched in MSG, wasn't overly oily for clay pots, was of decent portions, and was, overall, pretty above expectations. The rice was cooked in the pot and had crisped bits on the bottom, the beef stew had been stewed for long enough for the flavours to seep into both the daikon and the flavourful beef. The preserved pork belly and and Chinese sausage was a little fatty, but basically not stale. The bean curd was cooked just enough and unexpectedly light on the MSG.

Clay Pot 2: Beef and daikon stew

If I had to be a little pickier, the beef was a little dry, the bean curd had no character nor enough flavour, the preserved pork belly was too dry and the sausage too fatty, the soy sauce didn't have enough soy flavour, and they still added MSG, but see, for ¥50 (~$8) including delivery (delivery was free but we didn't have change), we were pretty happy. Hooray for low expectations!


The Case of the Abandoned Pots: Because they were on the same street as us, we went to see what the store was like after going out for lunch today, and that place looks new. As in, it had a very new sign on the outside, four white walls, an air conditioner, one large table with stools, a cashier's podium, and nothing else.


Last night, the delivery man told us to leave the pots outside the door after we're done so he can come pick them up later, twice. The thing is, no one came back for the pots. They sat outside our door for 20+ hours, untouched. I just brought them back inside the house because the building cleaners might get rid of them, but I kind of hope they come back and ring the doorbell for them, since they are definitely cutting a loss if they don't collect those pots and, well, this is one place that would be a bit of a shame to see closing down.


Because I am not about to show off my Canto-Mandarin on a phone where I cannot gesture to get my point across, I tried to contact them through Taobao (which is highly hilarious since that's the equivalent of ordering take-out through eBay), but I can't get into Mother's account and after I signed up for one myself, they revealed that new accounts cannot be used to send messages to sellers. Welp. Maybe when Mother gets back tonight I can use her account to send them a message. That WOULD me I have to retype the message I so painstakenly pinyin-ed out. We'll see. 


Edit 21:14: They came to pick up the pots approximately 24 hours after they were delivered. No further actions necessary. 

It's like receiving complaints that all you do is look at cookbooks and never actually bake, then when you're done buying the ingredients and tools and you are about to start baking the damned cake that they tell you your cake will taste like shit and question your ability to turn on the oven and really, why should you bother since you are completely useless anyway?

I've been waking up with a numb strip of muscle on my outer left thigh for about a week now. Sometimes it tingles, but it's mostly numb in the morning and takes a few hours to return to normal.