The alarm

The car alarm coming outside my apartment on a fifth floor was crisp, monotonous, it awoke me enough to reason that in a little while probably it would shut automatically. The minutes passed, and the alarm persisted. It was not just an alarm now; it was my lack of sleep. In the wee hours of the nights, in that severely imparted frost of morning, when the sheets cling on and one rolls over to find certain comfort. We awake many times throughout the night; we just don’t remember all. Reminiscence is a selective process. But this one I shall remember. The ringing alarm metastasized onto those inner lives of quiet desperation, wondering for how long will I suffer the conditions I am living under. The stench of cat’s feces and urine, the bed I’m sleeping in, the women I’m laying next to, my declining health, and saw it as an opportunity. The major indicator of an unfulfilled life is denial. I won’t deny this: I am constantly striving. But I have yet to claim that I am found. It comes to my realization that I am surrounded by individuals who dwell in misery, and hence can only make others as miserable as themselves; others who attain a degree of impassiveness, settling with fewer thrills and maintaining stricter norms keep a bit saner. I have yet to see a completely satisfied soul. Most of them are half alive and all of them revealing their anxiety whether through social detachment or in spoken interaction.
Drastic measures will bring modest results. I keep trying to keep honest with myself. This very writing, in a way, chronicles such fascinating (the alarm has stopped now, literally) mutation.
Now, back to the source of misery: unfulfilled selves. Instead of claiming what is left of them for ourselves, many opt to conform (quiet desperation) to their conditions, others ignore it. Gradually, of course, that which is no longer growing rots. The need for action is transparently key. But scratching deeper now, there are many elements that compose the alchemy to obtain a healthier and fuller life. There are contradictions also, and more than one road to follow, another way of writing it. This is only because, well, life is complex. My method consists of informing myself first, then applying it for myself, and then taking a conclusion that may not always stand as an ultimate truth since I relentlessly search out new info, apply knowledge, and continue to learn. Wasn’t it Seneca the one who said that we had to learn to live life once again everyday? Lying there in that bed, I felt enslaved in serfdom, impoverished and sick by choice. Why not blame Seneca again for being a bit too harsh on myself at times. I bought gifts for the family but even that intention I inquisitively reflected on. Gifts contain a lot of energy and potential for bonding. I spent lavishly, and even though my economic muscle wasn’t strained, I did work it and I’m not overtly finished yet. Tomorrow, on Christmas’ eve, I will deliberately make many folks happy. The very notion of it faded away the bitterness of that God-given alarm, the events that transpired, the reason I sat in front of this computer to write this log. I guess I should stick to the guns of my story. Well, I did significantly enough today considering that it’s only 7:35 a.m., and I have been up for only three hours. I have taken away that horrendous alarm noise for the entire neighborhood. I insisted on reporting it to 311, and was transferred to 911, until the cops they finally showed up. A truck picked it up and took it. Yeah, there are a lot of things to be taken care of. Now that the physical noise is gone, the spirit can resume without further distractions the find job of how shut off other mental alarms. This car alarm has awoken in me more than just the resolution to shut it, and not remain sleeping in my laurels thinking that there is a magical automatic devise that will do it for me.