I'm bored.

Which is strange, because I really shouldn't be. But hey, go figure.

Get ready for some selfish whinging.

Sometimes I just feel so sick of life. It's kind of scary really, because sometimes you feel that you're not even alive. It's like you're in a dream, and you're watching yourself from above- as if your soul has detached from your body and is wandering around bemusedly.

It's a strange feeling when you're not sure that you're alive anymore. Questioning your existence seems quite valid.

Don't you think that sometimes the world is going too fast for us?

It seems to me that the life I live, or the life that I am forced to live, has driven me like a chauffeur dreaming to be a F1 driver. It has sped me along the racetracks, skidding at some slippery turns, and flying along the tarred road. This life, the one that we all profess to love, to want to live; in plain English, sucks.

It really does.

I race along the gleaming tracks, and unconsciously, my brain, my body and my mind are focused on pushing myself that diminutive yet significant centre metre. Why? Because that oh-so-vital centre metre would push me just that little bit forward, that little bit better than everyone else.

My entire self, conscious and subconscious; my ego and my superego, are bent on sniffing out chances to pull ahead of the pack, to be the best. And as I’m shredding my tires, staring fixedly at those in front of me, my mind and the wind that tickles my ear urging me on (catch up, move faster, don’t lose!), I’m going too fast to look sideways and watch a little blade of grass wave to me forlornly as I zoom on by. In any case, were I even to turn and peer at that little green thing, I would lose focus on my target and fall behind.

Now we wouldn’t want that, would we?

We rocket past one another, but what for? What good does it do? We only berate ourselves for not catching up with the one that is now ahead of us; the one that was previously two paces ahead. It is a cycle that never ends; pointless and harmful, like leaving clothes in the washing machine to spin and spin endlessly. We would only end up unhappy and unsatisfied, our clothes stretched and worn and washed to the point beyond which the colour fades.

Sometimes, if we were to stop for just a moment, take the clothes out for awhile, take a pit stop, we find ourselves in a delirious joy. Perhaps if we were to step on the brakes, skid to a stop, and ponder curiously that fascinating blade of grass, we would find on our faces a smile.

It is the simple things that please us the most, the seemingly easily attainable, won’t-get-you-anywhere-in-the-world things that spread a balm over our heart, soothing our fiery souls.

I find that what I desire greatly these days is a day where I have no obligations, no immediate tasks that I have to attend to. A day where I could put all that aside, and sit down with an ungracious plop onto the floor, watch the box, read the square. It would help as well if my friends and family sat in the same room doing the same things.

Like today, or part of today. But even today, I cannot put my heart at ease or quell that unsettling feeling that I should be doing some work.

I found myself, today, or rather I lost myself, slipping back into my fantasies. I figure, since I cannot achieve such simple joy from my own life, why not do so in my dreams?

It is at these times when I find myself extremely gratified towards Professor J.R.R. Tolkien for his creation of Arda; for being Illuvatar. Indeed, I have spent so much time in and out of my fantasies that they have become a part of me, a part of me so connected to my emotions that they often trigger off feelings such as I do not during life.

In fact, this night, not an hour ago, my dissatisfied heart reached the end of the line for the deflibirator. I must confess that my heart perked up in delight when I unearthed some fanfictions that contained mirth and the storylines topping my desert list.

It reminded me much of the time when I thought to myself what the Earth’s wonders were. There was such lightness, such clarity in my vision right then; as if someone had chalked the way to happiness right on the path I was standing on.

Sometimes I think, that if only moments such as those could be exchanged for every moment with our heart darkened by storm clouds bordering on the horizon, then that would be a life worth living, a life worth losing the Grandpre.