In which I give up my right to complain, and declare that sleep is overrated. Sort of.

I’d like to think that one day, I’ll be making a living by writing about whatever I want. Travel, the myriad frustrations of having to rely on public transportation, a passionate plea for all of society to please pile on the deodorant during the heat of summer, life as a Malaysian expatriate in San Francisco (HERE’S HOPING), my tendency to choose books over groceries when faced with a dwindling bank balance, the mess that is my underwear drawer, my overwhelming need to nail all the notes in each and every song I pick in karaoke, my love of pho. Whatever. I. Freakin’. Want.

One day.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

That day hasn’t come yet. (Well, duh)

And you know what? That’s perfectly fine. I’ve got a very long way to go still when it comes to writing. I’ve barely started.

Until then, I need to remember this:

My day job allows me to do all the things I want to do. My day job keeps me in books and nearly endless cups of coffee. My day job pays for drinks on Friday night and brunch on the weekends and silk dresses at Madewell (even if I had to wait until the store knocked 30% off the price of said dresses). My day job allows me to say “TREAT YO SELF” every so often – this fortnight’s planned treat: a Lamy fountain and ballpoint pen set that I should not be this excited about, seriously. My day job pays for yoga classes and French classes and long holidays at the end of the year.

My day job allowed me to say “Yes, okay, I’ll make a random trip down to Los Angeles just to hang out with a bunch of really cool girls!”

(Which I did, and it was awesome, and seriously, I need to live in the same time zone as these ladies)

(L-R: Drea, Amber and Lanny)

I am still learning all kinds of new things in my day job. Which is nice.

So I’m not going to complain…much. Yes. I will not complain too much – because saying that I will never complain EVER is pretty much impossible, COME ON. I’m only human, and I have only so much patience for the more frustrating aspects of my job.

(Hi, admin tasks! Hi, juggling separate sets of report review points from senior staff that contradict each other!)

There will always be days when I will find myself sorely tempted to sign up to a sugar daddy matchmaking service and spend the rest of my days as a lady of leisure. But still: I’m not going to complain too much.

Promise.

And I’m not going to get complacent either.

I’ll keep writing. Always.

This is my new mantra for the year: Sleep is overrated. Kill yourself at work, go to yoga, then come home and work some more on all your other fun stuff.

Ulp.

I’d like to think that 2012 is the year that everything starts coming together for me. This shift in perspective is one teeny tiny step towards that: appreciate more, complain less, and work my damn butt off.

 

 

 

 

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