Hallucinations

Crazy, crazy, crazy week.

It's sunday over here in Malaysia, and I'll be staying over at my workplace, trying to clear the backlog of tasks. I didn't take a day off in the last 6 days, even though I did take it easy on my assigned off days which is Thursday and Friday. Today will be the death of me. If my efficiency doesn't go up at least a dozen notches above "Crappy".

Anyways, please allow me to elaborate. I just happen to be working for a Company in Singapore that deals with CableTV. I'm a Call Centre Agent, or those fancy terms like Customer Care Consultant/Customer Service Representative. When you're in this line, you've basically trapped yourself in an Iron Maiden, the nasty ones with the spikes that pierces you when the doors are closed on you.

I'm sure that most Malaysians, or Asians for that matter, would've noticed that there's a football event going on right now, it's called Euro 2008. This is my first La Petite Mort, and no, it isn't about orgasms, I died a little inside. When you work at a call centre, you are expected to try and get as many items done as possible within a certain timeframe. Originally we managed to take all 2500 calls offered before the event started, we thought everything was alright.

Then came the event, being the natural procrastinators we all are, we were ill prepared. Thousands of calls came pouring in starting from the few days before the event itself, requesting for the Pay Per View event, causing havoc all around the call floor. The word Euro 2008, if audited, should've been said at least a million times in the duration of that few days, if not more. We were getting on average 5 thousand calls and more for that week, far exceeding my own expectations, the catch is, we only have the capacity for 3 thousand, at most. If the definition of hell weren't flaming and sodomy, I would've thought it'll be thousands of Singaporeans banging on your doors (Or screaming at the phone), to get you to give them football.

On a side note, I hate football.

Of course, the above event had a significant impact, a very negative one. Staffs are overworked, tired of the mundaneness of dealing with customers hungry for sweaty men on a field chasing a ball. Team morale was on an all-time low due to not being able to foresee any tropical rest islands beyond the waves in the sea of work. We have no idea when we will be heading back to shore. Since May 12, the date the price for the Pay Per View event changed due to an expired promotion, we were all a little dead inside.

Continued soon... Sorries, need to head off to work.

ALLEN WALKER. YOU BASTARD!

I'm pretty sure anyone with an eye or more should be able to see that this blog is almost deserted, posts take months to be updated, no one leave comments etc.

I want to change that. However, I've finally realized things that I should have years ago.

I have no material.

To an artist, nothing pains him so much as to give him inspiration and nothing to draw on. In my case, I have thoughts, words to be spoken. However, no method in preserving them. Therefore you don't see my posts being recollection of memories, because I am incapable. My posts are mere contemplations on recollections. Something anyone with an imagination can do. I have put thoughts into words many times before, however I have not found a solution to one very simple problem a friend pointed out by a penetrating gaze through my works. I think fast, but I write slow. In addition to that, the barrage of thoughts in my head is usually cluttered and unorganized. Hence you see poorly structured sentences.

I get derailed easily.

I write with pen and paper, pencil would be the best, because I enjoy solitude when I use those tools, be it in my own room or a table in a public place. For blog posts, I use my computer. When I use my computer, I can compose a simple prose, only to have it ruined because outsiders are disturbing me. As I type this, 5 minutes ago I was going to write something about Transcience and Ephemeral elements of life. Now I'm ranting. Because I was disturbed. Honestly, if I weren't disturbed by a family member, I'd have shouted profanities. My logical train of thought moves quickly, therefore, derailment is much more severe when it happens.

I have no skills.

To humble any author, put him in a library. I couldn't agree more. I have read pretty much anything from casual compositions to elaborately woven stories of dragons and knights. I find my own writings absolutely horrendous. I believe that horrendous is an understatement. At times I struggle for adjectives, punctuations, even adverbs. This kind of sloppiness should not be tolerated. Even if this is the internet, there's still standards. Being Malaysian doesn't mean I can get away with a lower standard in english. It simply does not work. I cannot lie to myself. Stop telling me I have good english. I don't. As many times I try to convince myself that my english is better than my peers, the same amount of times I would look at fictional stories by other members of the intellectual society and weep.

I am wrong.

In many cases. This is the case. I would end up contradicting myself. In the end it's all bullshit. That's all I'm going to say on this point.

If you've been wondering why I do not update the blog frequently, there you go. Reasons.

I always thought that sharing is for good things like love and money and happiness and crap. Then I realized how selfish people are and that they usually horde those things to themselves. Fortunately I realize that other people are more than glad to share those that aren't theirs. Money from others is thriftly spent, happiness from others is prompt spread, love from others is quickly abused.

Then it's when I realized also that negative aspects of human emotions are also shared as easily. Also, the same rules apply. The victim of any misfortune are usually glad of and understanding they might get and are held down and fastened to their current reality of depression or unhappiness, but the friends and relatives of the victims are usually not burdened by such thoughts, therefore spreading around ways of which to cope. Usually not to the victims, but to the people in the immediate area. Which makes any victim's relatives or friends the targeted area of a tactical nuclear strike that induces all weird ailments starting from depression.

I prefer to keep quiet and restrain the radioactive area to fan out. Doing practical things rather than just talking about it. Next time you see someone being robbed, give the guy a pat on the back, buy him a bottle of water and let him drink and cool down significantly. Then you've helped enough.

It's just my way of showing my support. That's all.