I consider myself an autodidact multitasking polymath. An autodidact is a person who self-learns stuff that others would require going to college for; and a polymath is a person who is skilled in more than one skill.
Tonight I finished writing a draft of 150,000 words for a very dear client of mine. Earlier today, I’d sat through a mundane exam of Software Project Management.
In the afternoon, I’d with a foreman lied down a basic blueprint of an extension of our current house that we’re going to build.
Somewhere in between, I wrote a game review, played Call of Duty Modern Warfare’s multiplayer, read a chapter of Mr. Mercedes (written by my favorite author, Stephen King) and made tea for myself 8 times. I drink tea religiously despite what the doctors say. It’s good for my health if it makes me feel good, I say, knowing that its a foolish philosophy.
Right now, besides writing this blog, I am writing for another client of mine-also a very dear one-a horror werewolf story. I’ve written 6000 words so far.
Oh, I almost forgot about the part where I contacted a local software house and booked a WordPress and Magento course for myself. I know both of the frameworks and have coded in both of them before but I want to round myself off in all their aspects. So, yeah. I write computer code too. A lot. I’ve developed 3 video games in Unity 3d, all three of them being experimental. I did not release them.
I downloaded three movies (Imperium, Bastille Day and Finding Dory) today and currently I am watching Finding Dory. I have an exam in less than 12 hours and I have to yet to study for it.
There’s so much more that I have to do, but there’s not enough time. I thank God that I’ve been blessed with busy-ness and business. The good that He has bestowed on me outweighs the bad. The bad’s there for a reason though, if it weren’t there, I would feel immortal and invincible.
I don’t have a girlfriend and don’t intend to have one for an indefinite amount of time. as of yet, I haven’t found a girl (other than my cousin; eww, I know) who understands me on a pathological level. Who gets me, as it were. Even my cousin ran off when she found out that I was bipolar and prone to manic episodes. I’ve only had the one; manic episode.
If I am not writing, I am writing about writing on a cool ass Facebook group I’ve joined. My best friend these days is an American Muslim woman ten years older than me, married, with four kids, who also happens to be a writer. A good writer, I might add. She’s a nurse.
I don’t go out of my house except for when I have to go to college, and that I am thinking of dropping. Yes, I am thinking of dropping out but hear me out:
When I enrolled into computer science, I was naïve. Now I am not. What they’re teaching at the university is a course ten years old whereas computer science is a field that evolves every ten minutes. You see the irony? They don’t teach jack shit about coding here, except for the customary C++.
When I am not writing, or writing about writing, or going to college or drinking tea or sleeping or praying to God, I am constantly typing away at the keyboard. I recently bought a new keyboard; it’s a backlit, scissor switch keyboard with anti-ghosting abilities. I don’t know what that means. I saw it in Mr. Robot; it was the one the protagonist was using, and I ordered it. It’s an awesome keyboard.
These days I am pretty much working full time as a ghost writer. It pays good but hey, I can earn better if I tried harder. That’s the plan though. I plan to come out of the shadows and start submitting short stories to story magazines. That’s going to be a challenge though. I like challenges. I like my life right now. It’s spiced up with anxiety, depression and bipolar disorder but I don’t see those three as problems. I see them as redemptive liberations.
When I am anxious, I post on my Facebook. When I’m depressed, I check out my Instagram for #motivational and #besomebody.
When I’m in the throes of my bipolar, in the manic phase I write and I write without a stopper, and when I’m in the depressive phase, I write more furiously, therapeuting myself with each word that I write. It gives my writing flavor; on one hand its too grisly and on the other its like ‘Sunshine Daisies Butter Mellow’ and then the very next moment its “TURN THIS STUPID FAT RAT YELLOW!”
My mother worries a lot about me, as most mothers do for their children. I tell her its going to be fine, that everything will fall into its designated place in the grand jigsaw puzzle. She’s a devout woman, she turns to God a lot. I envy her for that. God and I aren’t usually on the best of terms, through my fault though. Still, He in His Benevolence provides me who, in his insolence doesn’t thank Him enough.
Peace out my dear constant readers ❤