Why Would I Write

Category: Random

  • Snitches Get Stitches

    Snitches Get Stitches

    It’s funny thinking about how I managed to get through 39 years of life without ever needing to visit a hospital for a severe laceration. Well, that streak officially ended on Tuesday night.

    It all started with a freak accident. I was trying to flush my business when the metal flush handle suddenly broke off in my hand. I’m still unsure how or why it broke. It’s not like I’m the Hulk, strong enough to shatter metal at will.

    Anyway, the handle snapped mid-flush, but that didn’t stop the momentum of my hand moving straight toward the jagged piece still attached to the toilet tank. I felt a sharp pain and immediately thought, oh shit. I knew it was serious when multiple tissues couldn’t stop the bleeding.

    It was a deep cut. I’d never seen my hand split open like that before. Fearing infection, I bandaged myself up and headed to the nearest hospital. Luckily, no one was ahead of me, so I didn’t have to wait. Pro tip: visit hospitals in the middle of the night to skip queues.

    I registered, told the staff what happened, and they brought me into a room and laid me on a hospital bed. Throughout the night, different staff members kept asking if I was allergic to any medication, at least three times, maybe more. Each time, I told them, “No. At least none that I’m aware of.”

    In the back of my mind, I was thinking: imagine if tonight’s the night we all find out I’m allergic to anesthesia (what a tricky word to spell). Fortunately, nothing dramatic happened after the injections I received.

    I got a tetanus shot in the arm and an anesthesia jab to the butt. Didn’t feel a thing from the tetanus shot at the time, but my arm did get sore the following day.

    The anesthesia didn’t seem to do much though, because holy hell, it hurt like shit when the doctor used copious amounts of povidone-iodine to clean the wound.

    I was gritting my teeth, trying to hold back from yelling. Fuck did slip out a couple of times. I apologized to the doctors for swearing.

    After that, they draped a green surgical sheet over my hand. The kind you see in doctor dramas where they operate through a tiny hole in the sheet. Except this time, it wasn’t a life-saving procedure on a vital organ. It was just my poor, pathetic index finger.

    Then came another jab. This time, local anesthesia, right into the wound itself. Holy hell, that hurt too. But only for a short while. After that, I didn’t feel much of anything, and I was grateful.

    Finally, it was the sewing. Three stitches. Four short of lucky. Then they cleaned up the mess, dressed my wound and I was good to go. I picked up my pills, medical certificate and left the hospital.

    Thankfully, I’ve been doing alright since. It hurts much less now, but I’m dreading the day they remove the stitches. The doctor said it would be painless, but somehow I don’t believe that.

    I got my finger checked again on Friday. Everything looked good. No bleeding, no infection. They replaced the bandage. Hopefully, it won’t take too long to heal. But I’m an old man, so it probably will.

    Remember, kids: sometimes it’s better not to flush.

  • Or anything else to lean on

    Or anything else to lean on

    Yesterday, I asked myself: why do I even bring my bag to the office? I started thinking about it. Then it hit me – going to work was like going to school. It was part of my “uniform”. I’ve worn a backpack almost every day in my life ever since I was five. I’m turning forty this year. That’s crazy.

    Why is it crazy? Well, there are many days when I don’t even touch my backpack after arriving at the office. I put it down next to my seat and ignore it for the next 8 hours of the day. It just sits there all day collecting dust and bacteria from all the feet shuffling by.

    I’m carrying my bag for nothing. It contains my personal laptop, its accessories, my gym tag, lock, water bottle, keys, and wallet. It makes sense to bring it out during my work-from-home days, but on my office days? I have no reason to.

    My office laptop stays in the office, so it’s not like I need the bag to lug it home. Then why do I still bring my backpack to the office? I used to think it was a great idea to have my laptop with me at all times. That way, whenever inspiration struck, no matter where I was, I’d be able to pull out my laptop and start writing. Hah! Ever the optimist.

    That used to be the case, but no longer in recent months. Despite having my laptop with me at all times, I haven’t felt the bug to write. As evident by the date of my last blog post. It’s tough deciding what I’d like the world readers to know about me.

    I obviously can’t bear everything about myself, firstly – it would be boring. Secondly, there are parts of my life I don’t want out there for everyone to read. Not that they would be interesting – trust me, I’ve milked stories about my life enough. Heck, this blog is 90% about my life.

    I’ve shared more about myself than anybody needs to know. Hopefully, it’s been entertaining.

    I write for funsies. I’d like to believe it keeps my writing abilities intact. As though I don’t already write enough at work. But if I can’t tell my own stories, how can I do the same for other people? You gotta practice what you make a living off.

    It gives me comfort knowing that the best writers I know write for fun. There must be a reason, right? Regardless, it’s fun to write for fun.

    However, I have been suffering from writer’s block recently. Is it all in my head? Am I making excuses for myself? Maybe. The lack of recent blog posts is proof that I haven’t been able to complete a piece of writing for fun (I’ve got tons of shitty drafts though).

    My songwriting has also been on hold because of this. I told myself I would take a break from live shows to focus on writing new songs because I didn’t want to keep playing the same songs forever. I haven’t played a live show in months.

    I took time to write new music and I have three new demos now, but none of them have vocal melodies, let alone lyrics. Where I’m also stuck.

    You know how much easier it is to write song lyrics when you’re feeling heartbroken and upset? Suddenly, everything you say sounds like poetry. It’s not what I’m going through now. I know it’s an excuse. I should be able to write lyrics even when I’m not unhappy.

    It’s tough and a step out of my comfort zone. But that’s just what life is. Sometimes you need to step out of your comfort zone – if you want to make progress in life or make it interesting. You do things you don’t do every day. Like learning to write non-depressing lyrics.

    Maybe I need to stop bringing my backpack to the office. My back might thank me for it. Perhaps not having access to my laptop at all times will inspire me to write more. It can’t hurt to try. And doing the same thing and expecting different results is insanity. Something needs to change.

    I need to make moves, not excuses.

  • At Ease with Being at Ease

    At Ease with Being at Ease

    I realized I was procrastinating a lot in life. It wasn’t just work—even when it came to doing things for myself, like waking up earlier to get things done on the weekend, I’d put it off, which would then delay my later plans even further. It was a snowball effect.

    I put off finishing my work as though I was practicing edging like there was no tomorrow—waiting until the eve of a deadline to submit it. Even though it wasn’t technically a problem, I felt guilty. I wasn’t being paid to goof off; I was paid to work during working hours. To deliver impact.

    Instead of working at 100% efficiency like my hardworking colleagues during office hours, I spent my nights catching up on work to compensate. I felt that I needed to because I wasted time during the day, so it was my penance to continue working after hours.

    Never mind the fact that I tell myself I’m more productive at night. Maybe that’s just an excuse—after all, productivity shouldn’t depend on the time of day.

    You know how when you’re doing something unproductive, your mind sometimes wanders, and you think, Why am I doing this when I could be doing something productive instead? That’s been me for the longest time.

    I don’t stop whatever I’m doing, mind you—I just think about what I should be doing instead. It’s not great, to be honest. This all started earlier this year when I thought to myself, Hmm, how do I get rid of my procrastination habit? Ironically, I was procrastinating when that thought occurred to me.

    I kept falling into the same cycle. I was gaining nothing by procrastinating, yet I kept doing it, despite knowing it was a problem. But I couldn’t just stop. It’s one of the most difficult things to overcome, especially when it’s a habit you’ve spent most of your adult life reinforcing.

    So I decided to speak to my therapist about it. Not the edging part—that analogy only popped into my head tonight—but the part about feeling bad about procrastinating. I wanted to stop.

    Besides giving me actionable goals, she dug deeper to find the root cause. She shared an image of a triangle and explained:


    Feelings, thoughts, and behavior are all linked. If you understand what triggers your emotions or thoughts while procrastinating, you can identify the underlying cause.

    She also told me that nobody can stay focused for eight hours a day. It’s simply not human. Everyone needs breaks.

    Regardless, we’ve spent the past few weeks trying to uncover the core issue.

    I’ve tried recording my thoughts and feelings, but so far, I’ve got nothing. Maybe it’s suppressed trauma. Maybe it’s something else. The problem is, I don’t feel much of anything when I procrastinate. I don’t even think about it. I just do it.

    In the meantime, she gave me some actionable goals—similar to what my previous therapist suggested:

    • Try the Pomodoro technique.
    • Break big tasks into smaller ones to make them more manageable.
    • Reward yourself. Give yourself something to look forward to.
    • Time your breaks. Be mindful of how long they last.

    This time, I took the timing advice seriously, and it’s helped the most. I started tracking my daily activities.

    When you start paying attention to how you spend your time, it brings clarity and focus. You can measure how much time is truly wasted and how much is spent working hard. And surprisingly, it’s been working. I’m not a machine (yet), but I’ve been more productive than before.

    I even did something unthinkable. For the first time in eighteen years, I filed my taxes the same week I received my tax form. A small task, but to me, a massive accomplishment.

    Imagine if I could be 100% productive when I’m supposed to be. How powerful would that make me???

    In the end, it’s just like managing your finances. They say the easiest way to save money is to track your spending so you can see how much you waste or save. The same applies to time. And to your caloric intake. And your fat or muscle gains. Track everything that matters to you.

    It’s never too late to start paying attention.

    So, tonight, for the first time in a long time, I’m sitting at a cafe, typing out this little essay—not worrying about work. Because I was productive earlier today and finished my tasks before leaving the office. There’s still work to be done, sure, but that’s for tomorrow.

    For those of you struggling with procrastination—if you want to overcome it, you can. Start today.