Stuck.
If I had been marking each day I felt not good, then this year would be full of black X's... I wouldn't do that anyway, because then I'd be needlessly afraid the bad would outnumber the good, and I already overthink and over-worry in general.
It's been especially bad as of late. I have plenty of things I can do, not to mention a few things I should do, but I don't. I can't find the motivation.
I can't make things. I can't focus long enough to learn things.
I waste time all the time, that's nothing new, but now I feel it. There's something I could be should be doing. My productivity is stuck. I'm not sure what I would count as productive now, anyway.
I can blame part of it on the summer. I've never really liked summer, and it's especially hot and not constantly air-conditioned here. I know this predates the mind-melting heat, however.
The strongest feeling I've had this week that resembled purpose was the urge to clean my apartment. Not so much the disinfect and sparkle kind as the declutter and destroy kind. It's Saturday afternoon, and I haven't done a damn thing about it.
All I know is that I want to talk to people, but topics and people are hard to (easily, spontaneously) find. It's tiring to initiate conversations. It's tiring to think about it.
Maybe what's missing are comfortable silences with close company. That familiarity.
It's been especially bad as of late. I have plenty of things I can do, not to mention a few things I should do, but I don't. I can't find the motivation.
I can't make things. I can't focus long enough to learn things.
I waste time all the time, that's nothing new, but now I feel it. There's something I could be should be doing. My productivity is stuck. I'm not sure what I would count as productive now, anyway.
I can blame part of it on the summer. I've never really liked summer, and it's especially hot and not constantly air-conditioned here. I know this predates the mind-melting heat, however.
The strongest feeling I've had this week that resembled purpose was the urge to clean my apartment. Not so much the disinfect and sparkle kind as the declutter and destroy kind. It's Saturday afternoon, and I haven't done a damn thing about it.
All I know is that I want to talk to people, but topics and people are hard to (easily, spontaneously) find. It's tiring to initiate conversations. It's tiring to think about it.
Maybe what's missing are comfortable silences with close company. That familiarity.