The Curious Case of the Conjured Reality that Lives inside my Mind

                My mind simply doesn't yield to my endless plea for rest. I close my eyes to sleep every night, but it seems I hold a chasing contest with slumber nightly where over and over again, I emerge as a sore and tired loser. Sleep, in theory, has been integrated into our instinctive existence to ensure that our body including all the organs inside it, gets to reset, recharge, and rest to function effectively every day. I do not seem to enjoy such an evolutionary reality. Something is wrong with my freaking brain. 

      From things ethereal to mundane experiences to most kept secrets, my mind keeps on projecting them to me like a vintage view master toy even with my eyes closed. I just wish my mind evolved to be average or even something joyful as idiotic. They say ignorance is bliss. I long to be blissful and be able to find joy from nonsensical earthly issues. I would trade this mind just so it learns how to focus. I want to zero in on putting the perfectly made espresso shots in perfect timing so that it remains hot in a cup of iced coffee Americano. If my mind learns how to just focus on one thing, I should have finished my graduate thesis and perhaps finished a doctorate degree. I wish my mind could focus just so I could learn how to fix my car when it's broken. I want to learn how to fix the faucet or even the broken shower host. 

         My mind keeps on wandering along the alleyways of unsolvable topics such as the ceaselessly extending universe in one minute, how languages evolve the next minute, the phenomenon of attraction the other minute, and then the failures of education institutions up to why people believe in religions of division and hate. 

        I wake up in the morning genuinely terrified that it's too late for the world to reverse climate change. Last night I woke up at two in the morning thinking why am I so full of pride that I do not want to follow people who coax me to delusions of making it big in my field. I do not need to be reminded that I really could get big in the field of education, because I am aware of my intelligence. I just do not have the zest to be gritty about satisfying the set requirements. I feel folly whenever I speak about technical things because I am not an expert in any field. That is why I really take offense when people look at me with pity thinking why am I not a supervisor or the DepEd Secretary. I do not wish to be promoted. I just don't want it. I don't effin' care about titles. EdDs, PhDs, CESEs, and CESOs. I can pinpoint some people who are categorically and empirically idiotic and utterly imbecile with all those titles. People adore them because of their titles. I don't care. If people believe in me because of my skills, then thank you. I am willing to share what I learned and know. If people do not believe in me because I hold the lowest title for school principals, then I understand. They really have a point you know. Why am I principal 1 if I were really that good?  It is a valid argument. 

        Why am I blabbering about this? Perhaps I am frustrated with the world... with myself. I am starting to lose zest about everything. I am seriously considering changing my career. Something that doesn't require thinking. I would want to go to New Zealand and milk cows for the rest of my life with my family. Then again, why do I have to involve them with my conjured reality? In my mind, I am a prolific artist, novelist, orator, painter, playwright, lover, poet laureate. school owner, and an operatic singer to name a few. 

       In my mind, I have a cane going up the stage while a room filled with an expecting audience is waiting to hear me talk. In my mind, I am a royalty. In my mind, I would die at 70 years old. In my mind, I would be remembered for something. I just do not know what that something is. 

         I live in my mind, and in it, I conjured a reality that is a compendium of all my unfulfilled dreams. Perhaps, I consider dying but then again, my mind would be so restless and filled with existential questions that I would become fearful of taking my own life. I may be a fool because no one really understands me. I do not understand myself. I could not even finish anything... Moreover...