I haven’t been writing for a while.

It’s not that I don’t want to, I just haven’t gotten the time. But really, you all know it’s a lie. It’s not that I haven’t gotten the time, it’s just that I haven’t been making time.

For what?

To just sit down. And write.

Truthfully, I just went back from celebrating my Dad’s 54th birthday, and I’m damn tired. It’s 10.30 PM, and next to me sits a very handsome-looking glass of wine – waiting. To make it worse, I’m on bed, and my pillows are calling for me. The music’s playing softly (it’s currently playing “Walking in The Rain” by A1, one of my old time’s favourites).

But somehow, I know I have to write. It’s been too long. Another day and I can lose it forever.

A couple of days ago, a friend of mine posted this on Path:

making time for coffee

And it’s true. I have forgotten what it’s like to make time for myself. Time will not slow down for you. Work will always be there. Deadline, after deadline, after deadline. I don’t know how many homework I have at the moment, and I don’t even care to count. For starter, a friend told me to stop checking my Blackberry (as it is the source of all the homeworks I have) after working hours, and I haven’t actually successfully followed the advice – but I do ignore the emails (or requests) and deal with whatever asked the next day.

But about making time? It’s getting harder when you’re back to being an only daughter of parents who are kind-of protective of everything that you’re doing. Really, having that coffee time alone is quite hard.

Picture this. The other day, I just bought a new book (“Every Day” by David Levithan, which all of you should have read by now because it’s that complicatedly interesting), and I decided to head to my local cafe after work. Of course, when I got home, my Mom gave me remarks along the words of “Do you realize what time it is?” or “Going outside again, eh?” or a dozen other cynical phrases. (FYI, it was not even 8 PM when I stepped into my house).

From being a super free birdie in Melbourne who once went home at 3 AM, to being scolded when she arrived at 8 PM, well, it kinda sucks.

Of course, that’s not the point. The point is, I’m still making some excuses to not having enough time to spare for that coffee.

I wonder how my friends survive it. The 8 AM to 11 PM work routine plus needing to tend to everything else (laundry, cooking, family, social life, blah, and blah). I wonder how much energy bar do they have. Because clearly, I’m still lacking sleep despite sleeping for seven-ish hours every day.

But again, that’s not the point of this post. The point of this post is about making time. Or not really. The point of this post is just to tell you that I’m alive and well, still having lots of homework despite being busy for the past two weeks, and still failing at losing some weight.

Oh, another point is to tell you that I’m making time to write this post, of course. Despite it’s now 10.45 PM and I can only manage to spare fifteen minutes as my eyes are closing slowly.

On a last nice note, I’m loving my glass of red wine.

Kirk out.