Too much of anything is shitty.

"Ennui is the echo in us of time tearing itself apart." - Emile M. Cioran

(I love Googling quotes. It makes me feel so smart.)

(Hey, I'm a poet, and I didn't know it.)

(I think that's the rum coke talking.)

Around this time two years ago I was in the process of resigning from my last full-time job.

(My body has this way of telling me it's time to leave: my upper back starts hurting big time, so much so that in the morning I literally can't get out of bed; Cybs has to pull me up.)

I remember how relieved I felt. In between projects that I worked on from home, I did a bit of yoga, a lot of housekeeping, a bit of Cooking 101 (thanks to my wonderful housemates), and a shitload of DVD and download marathons.

And then there was The Great Depression: I twiddled my thumbs, neglected my yoga mat, worried about my dwindling bank account (recently I realized that spending time in Makati is HELL on the wallet), and spent waaaaaay too much time doing pointless things.

Right now I am two months into a three-month contract with a production company. As I told my current boss, I left my "cave" to talk to directors and drivers and clients and guards again.

At the risk of angering the gods, so far so good. (I think I can say that out loud now, though it may bite me in the ass.) It's not as bad as I thought it would be. There are still parts of it that I like, and excite me. There are still parts of it that I dislike, and at times freak me out. (Humans? I have to deal with humans?)

To quote a friend who quoted somebody, "Balance is not a still thing--maintaining balance requires constant attention and adjustment."

And maybe buttloads of coffee.