“The Thin Man” (It begins…)

I’m running out of things to say.

I’ve come to that point in my recuperation and my convalescence that everything is going smooth sailing (thankfully) and everything has become routine. Twice a week, I go to my dialysis and on those days, I eat a really early dinner at around 5pm or 5:30pm. I’m at the hospital by 6:15pm and I begin my dialysis at around 7pm, usually, and I’ll have a sandwich so I can take my meds at around 7:30 or 7:45 while the dialysis is on-going.

I’m there for four hours and if I haven’t uploaded my iPad with a video, I have iPad games that I can play to pass the time. I’ve tried reading a book but because I have to stay as still as possible, the reading position doesn’t suit me very well (I move a lot when I read) and I can only really go not further than ten or twelve pages before I started getting angsty.


When routine hits, and the act of living has slowed down, the words stop coming, as it is doing now

It’s like that. Everything is routine and I’ve gone through a whole gamut of emotions moving here but everything is settled now and I’ve gotten most of my feelings and thoughts about moving here out into the page or somewhere and now I don’t feel such strong emotions about it so I don’t have much to write about it in that regard.

I do miss a lot of people in Manila very much but I’ve written about it in such strong words and images and feelings on my first two to three weeks here that everything that I write now just doesn’t compare.

The storm has passed and I’m having a difficult time thinking of anything to say.

I can’t leave the house because of my temporary catheter making me vulnerable to infections so I’m just here, at home, with the same people day in and day out.

It’s fine, really. It’s a good life. It’s a peaceful life. But it’s very hard to find the urge to write about anything. I’m not living — not the way I’m used to — and you cannot write in a vacuum. I believe good writing, or at least the writing that I do, stems from the thoughts and questions that come from life, from everyday living. And I’m not doing that.

So… I am running out of things to say. I have nothing to blog about really. Hardly anything new to Instagram and nothing to struggle with for Twitter except the news I read online.

This is my challenge now: what to make of my situation that I can still be productive with conditions that isn’t conducive to me being productive in the way that I’m accustomed to (now that’s a challenging structure for any sentence).

I guess this is the time when I should be writing less poetry and more memoirs, more autobiography; this neutral state where I can write objectively and without intense emotion what has happened to me. It’s the best emotional mindset to make the record of the recklessness of my past choices that lead me here. Writing about it in anger or disappointment or frustration would give it a flavour that’s not true to who I am. I need to be in this headspace.

I think it is time to start writing the memoir portions of The Thin Man. I have the poems. I have e-mails and Tweets that can pepper and emphasise the narrative of the future non-fiction I’m going to write but it’s time to write the meat of the book.

I think I’m going to spend this Christmas season writing about how I got here. I have this whole idea for a non-fiction book, a memoir but also filled with poems and e-mails and Tweets, and it’s called The Thin Man.

This is when it begins. I’ll keep this date in handy. When that book comes out, I can point to this date as to when the progress had moved from gathering all the peripheral material and when the real writing began.

It began today.


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