"The weather over the past three days has been absolutely horrible--a heat wave sweeping across the island, enveloping the lands with an inescapable sheen of heat--the 34 degree celsius air think and heavy, the humid air hanging heavily, weighing down on the world below; it's been unbearably hot--and here I am, lying on my bed in bunk, the evening air still and no cooler than the heat of the day, the only, but barely adequate respite--the ceiling fans spinning at full speed--something unheard of since the cold spells at the end of last year."

Monday evening, in my diary.

Hot is the only word I can think of to describe the past week--hot and crazy; we all went absolutely bonkers last night, rushing to complete the assembly of a farewell video for the commanding officer of our unit; as we hit the 15th hour of continuous work we were starting to get mildly demented, laughing our heads off at stupid replies from officers interviewed; by the 18th hour we were completely delirious, doing nothing that I can remember already.

I'm going crazy at this rate, my sense of day and night, my sense of time, all getting screwed up--what with four, five nights without sleep this month already--one to guard duty, and four, five more nights of overnight video-editing; everytime I stay up through a night, I get the sensation of the days lasting 48 hours, the sensation of day repeating itself, sensation of losing myself and my physical bearings. By the end of the 24+ hour session this morning, I could hardly walk straight after replaying and rewinding clip after clip, listening to speeches in reverse, waiting to hit the split button on the clip in Premiere at the exact split second. 'Twas sheer concentration required, and sheer concentration for so many hours, is sheer madness.

That's what my week's been: utter madness. I can't think of much else to say already, after four days spent in camp, and two days melded into one of continuous lunacy.

And, perhaps sometimes, I think, it's becoming impossible to really find out how and what I really feel; it seems like what I feel, is not a subconscious issue determined independently of my thought processes; rather, it's what I choose, consciously, to feel, that I'll feel, about something, about someone.

But do I dare make that conscious choice? Do I dare accept the responsibilities, the implications, of my choice?

I'd think not; I think I've dwaddled in the comfort zone that is me, myself, and I, for too long; when will I make that first step out?

Maybe when there is a compelling enough reason to, I suppose.

Or am I just making excuse, after excuse, for myself?

We'll see.

(Or is this just another lame excuse at indecision? I think so. Hahaha. I shall just continue sitting here, in inaction, laughing at myself.)