Maybe there's something left to sort out
Today started with oblivion broken by a series of brief and blurry glimpses of consciousness.
Cars zooming by outside my window. The television babbling in the other room. Then nothing.
The light blue of my walls, the light green of the sheet tacked up over my windows and the brown of my hardwood floors. All blurred together. Then nothing.
My feet crunched against the wall beside my bed. Legs curled up. Forearm under my head and pins and needles in the shoulder. Head on the edge of the bed. The inside of my mouth feeling as if sand had been poured into it. Then nothing.
"What time is it?" Actual thought. My first since the long train of it that kept me awake for far too long last night. Late night thoughts about the lack of objective right and wrong and the need for personal codes created by that lack. A groan. "I don't care." Then nothing.
Full consciousness. A full half hour of it. Spent looking at the ceiling or the insides of my eyelids. Trying to find the energy to stand.
Finally, I found it. Kicked clothes and piles of junk from my path as I walked across the room. Pulled the door open and found myself face to face with Houdini, Shokes' little grey cat. She was sitting on the top of the three steps from my room to the rest of the house.
She looked at me for a few seconds and then meowed.
"Hello," I said as I walked past her.
My face in the washroom mirror was a sight. Cheeks and chin shadowed with stubble, hair plastered to the sides of my head and light blue fatigue circles under my eyes.
The good news? I'm not hungover and won't be for a while.
The bad news? I feel like this and I'm not hungover.
I'm wrecked.
I've been sleeping terribly, eating terribly and feeling about the same. I wake up five minutes before I leave for work. I ride my bike fast all the way there and barely clock in on time. I spend the first half of the day trying not to fall asleep from boredom and fatigue. I eat crappy lunches because I didn't take the time to prepare a proper lunch the night before. Then I wonder why I have no energy to finish my shift. I get home intending to go to bed early, then get caught up in something else I'd rather do. Talking on MSN, going to a bar (and not drinking), going to a movie, watching television, net surfing, reading. Anything but anything productive. I'm frustrated and tired and irritable.
But something's building. A pressure of some sort. To make a change.
I'm afraid to post this. Afraid you'll read this and think, "Awww. The poor guy is a mess over Christa being in Australia."
That's not it. I won't deny that I miss her. I do. A lot. But she isn't what's wrong.
What's wrong is my approach to life. I'm not sure how to put this, and in truth, I'm so frustrated trying to figure it out that I'm ready to throw things.
Let's put it this way. My approach is passive. You could call it the 'wait and see' approach to life. I wait for things to come my way. I don't pursue them.
However, there are a number of things I want out of life that will not just happen by themselves. I need to make them happen.
"So make them," you say.
That's the problem. I have twenty four years of inertia working against me. My life has been pretty good. While a lot of crappy things have happened, a lot more good things have.
Damn it! Do you see what I mean yet? My approach to life is so ingrained that it's even reflected in the way I think about my life. Good things have happened to me. Not, I've led a good life.
The passive approach is habitual and unconscious and has been reinforced too well for it to be easy for me to change the way I live.
But I have to. Because I can't go on feeling like the object of my life rather than the subject.
Cars zooming by outside my window. The television babbling in the other room. Then nothing.
The light blue of my walls, the light green of the sheet tacked up over my windows and the brown of my hardwood floors. All blurred together. Then nothing.
My feet crunched against the wall beside my bed. Legs curled up. Forearm under my head and pins and needles in the shoulder. Head on the edge of the bed. The inside of my mouth feeling as if sand had been poured into it. Then nothing.
"What time is it?" Actual thought. My first since the long train of it that kept me awake for far too long last night. Late night thoughts about the lack of objective right and wrong and the need for personal codes created by that lack. A groan. "I don't care." Then nothing.
Full consciousness. A full half hour of it. Spent looking at the ceiling or the insides of my eyelids. Trying to find the energy to stand.
Finally, I found it. Kicked clothes and piles of junk from my path as I walked across the room. Pulled the door open and found myself face to face with Houdini, Shokes' little grey cat. She was sitting on the top of the three steps from my room to the rest of the house.
She looked at me for a few seconds and then meowed.
"Hello," I said as I walked past her.
My face in the washroom mirror was a sight. Cheeks and chin shadowed with stubble, hair plastered to the sides of my head and light blue fatigue circles under my eyes.
The good news? I'm not hungover and won't be for a while.
The bad news? I feel like this and I'm not hungover.
I'm wrecked.
I've been sleeping terribly, eating terribly and feeling about the same. I wake up five minutes before I leave for work. I ride my bike fast all the way there and barely clock in on time. I spend the first half of the day trying not to fall asleep from boredom and fatigue. I eat crappy lunches because I didn't take the time to prepare a proper lunch the night before. Then I wonder why I have no energy to finish my shift. I get home intending to go to bed early, then get caught up in something else I'd rather do. Talking on MSN, going to a bar (and not drinking), going to a movie, watching television, net surfing, reading. Anything but anything productive. I'm frustrated and tired and irritable.
But something's building. A pressure of some sort. To make a change.
I'm afraid to post this. Afraid you'll read this and think, "Awww. The poor guy is a mess over Christa being in Australia."
That's not it. I won't deny that I miss her. I do. A lot. But she isn't what's wrong.
What's wrong is my approach to life. I'm not sure how to put this, and in truth, I'm so frustrated trying to figure it out that I'm ready to throw things.
Let's put it this way. My approach is passive. You could call it the 'wait and see' approach to life. I wait for things to come my way. I don't pursue them.
However, there are a number of things I want out of life that will not just happen by themselves. I need to make them happen.
"So make them," you say.
That's the problem. I have twenty four years of inertia working against me. My life has been pretty good. While a lot of crappy things have happened, a lot more good things have.
Damn it! Do you see what I mean yet? My approach to life is so ingrained that it's even reflected in the way I think about my life. Good things have happened to me. Not, I've led a good life.
The passive approach is habitual and unconscious and has been reinforced too well for it to be easy for me to change the way I live.
But I have to. Because I can't go on feeling like the object of my life rather than the subject.
