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I am free. Free in my own mind. Whirling, swirling, twirling in happiness. Light as air, too far from the ground with relief. Soon, all this shall be over. I am returning to my first love: The english language. I don't mean to discriminate and exclude the many other beautiful languages out there, this is, simply, the only language that I have... I am returning HOME, to myself. I am changing paths, a little, again to become more myself. My life is a stone and I am carving myself out of it pebble by pebble. I am closer to my dream. I have accepted fate. I like it. I love it... I have gained all I need here, and am ready to move on. I made this decision today, and it made the world make sense. I am becoming again, what I always was deep down. THANK FUCK! Perhaps, just maybe, (the bald man had no hair), this therapy caper is working. I can see the self satisfaction seeping out of my therapist when I make progress, but I refuse to get into that... not now. I can't corrode this. |
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Why is it that a person can feel completely fine until they walk into a therapist's office. I challenge you to find me someone who won't consider themselves a little mad after subjection to the intensity associated with the medicinal confessional that is my therapists offices... Today I felt fine, balanced. Unmotivated, definitely but still, fine enough in my life. But step into that office, and I am again disintegrated into the ball of raw sinew and fuckery that I have come to associate with these sessions. I left early. I hated myself for the lack of commitment. I am successfully conditioned to deteriorate in small rooms with high ceilings and yellow walls... my god-- the walls in my house are ALL YELLOW... (not my choice). So here I am feeling totally shit about the whole experience, and assured by the many voices of judgement within me that not one soul will give a shit. Good on you if you do. Its a wonderful place inside my head. I think I'll go to sleep. night world. Tron |
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I click the dial on the washing machine to synthetics. Its a shorter cycle, save the planet. I feel synthetic myself tonight. I feel thoroughly unmotivated. I see posts on here about new things, and here, at the end of semester, I'm finishing something when other people are starting. Its startlingly incongruous. I'd like to feel like I were headed somewhere. Like I were motivated toward a goal. But I'm not. And surprisingly, despite this empty feeling and a longing to 'get up and go somewhere every day' I'm not too worried by the whole experience. On the whole, I find demotivation the usual place to be when the air turns cold. Something else opens up inside my head and creative wheels start to turn. I'm like a deciduous tree to look at, stark, gaunt, completely still... not doing anything and surrounded by the rotting decay of my own leaves. But inside, I'm not dead. I'm just sleeping, and thinking. I could be like this forever. I could be content with this... if only I could quell that desire to get up and go somewhere every day. I wish there was a vaccination that could prevent this sometimes. I wish there were some kind of 'dilligence' drug that made you want to do things (I think there might be one, I think its called 'speed')... But then again, is it better to be in this natural state of stagnance, to take stock of all that is not happening? I have no answers. |
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I'm not okay with no motivation. I can't work in the 'artistic' headspace any more. I need motivation. There is some, I'm sure, stored somewhere in a box clearly marked 'get off your arse' but I seem to have lost the key to that box and I can't get into it. Staring at it isn't getting anything done. AGH... Time to go... to try and not make the same pattern of mistakes. Tron |