Sometimes, you have too many thoughts racing through your mind.

Which makes it difficult to choose what to write.

Which is unfortunate because you may end up forgetting it all later.

And you're left with the unprofitable knowledge that you've realized something deep and important and touching, but can't remember it at all.

Today was... A lot of things.

Though for the most part, it was not much.

The plan of studying with Ryan at the airport was reduced to reading a few (yet rather enlightening) pages of Wide Sargasso Sea over Coffee Bean's banana chocolate, then moving towards criticising his Floorball write-up and bad grammar.

So mostly, that was not much.

Then I returned home and cooked buffalo chicken wings and learnt a new song in the guitar.

Which was a lot, considering I cook every 5 years and learn a song every 5 months.

Or learn a song every 5 years and cook every 5 months.

Or less, but you get the point.

And this sense of achievement made me very upset.

Why was I not doing this regularly?

Why do I constantly deprive myself of such joy and accomplishment in exchange for a few breathing moments of watching the unchanging, unyielding and consistently grey wall.

But then I want to learn how to cook, to draw realistically, to play better guitar, to take amazing photos but what do all these mean? I want to do everything, too many things that it's reduced to achieving absolutely nothing.

It keeps me awake at night. Consumes me because a few more stolen hours while everyone lays asleep gives one a sense of power. An advantage of sorts. But what advantage is there in doing nothing?

I've taken a dose of red bull and i've still got time.