Hey Brain! Yeah, that's right I'm talking to you...STOP AND SMELL THE FUCKING ROSES!!!
Here is something I wrote out in my side journal pretty late last night, we are talking 4:30 on. I thought it justified a posting in the main livejournal as it wasn't that depressive and fairly insightful.
As I reflect back on yet another unproductive day- in which a large part of the day was taken up by slouching, mooning, pining, and other ways of feeling sorry for myself- I realize that something is bothering me. Allow me to go over my day; I awoke, checked my various links to the outside world (internet, email, facebook, etc), read some Atlas, played a game, ate dinner, and talked to friends online. By normal standards, (for me) this would constitute a Productive day, hell I actually communicated with the outside world beyond a video game yet, I retired empty and unsatisfied, a dry sponge and an unfilled glass; desirous of FULL-fillment. Reflecting back upon these activities I realize what is bothering me, and I realize what is my sin for the day- a sin that has a great impact on all my life, not only this current dying day. I am restless. I claim so often to be tired, yet that is because I am tired of being restless. It is peculiar that the world itself- RestLESS- does not have the same connotative meaning as its denotative meaning. Literally, it means lacking rest, a state that would typically make one more tired. However, it is commonly used to mean impatience, in particular for a certain activity. So incredibly impatient am I that I become tired and bored with being impatient. It is also odd that I am not that impatient with people. Unless I absolutely MUST be somewhere else at a certain time, I will wait for someone, whether it's for lunch or leaving the house or some other activity. I would wait hours for a person that I would expect to arrive at any moment.
With myself; however, I have no such patience. I demand that I read a chapter faster, inasmuch that I demand the impossible, that the chapter itself go faster or be shorter. Write more in a shorter amount of time, go to sleep faster, make the song over quicker; I demand actions that can't even be in my power. I want it to speed up; I wish I was typing this entry faster. Why? What better thing do I have to do? I don't truth to tell. Maybe I just get bored with one thing far too quickly. I demand boredom to fade. I demand that ideas come faster, more often, and better. Do I place too high demands on myself? I have a feeling that if I didn't place these demands neither my convictions nor my will would be quite as strong as they are. I am impatient and self-demanding and these are my cardinal sins. It is like living in a perpetual state of denial. Denying that things have to go as slow as they do, denying that things are the way they are.
I fear I do not "stop and smell the roses" as much as I'd like to think I do. I tell myself I need to slow down, to not think so much, or worry, or be impatient; to just enjoy, but I don't know how to stop- short of sleep, being knocked out, or a bullet to the head. I need some kind of protection from my mind and myself; to block out unhealthy thoughts, and slow down, and enjoy things more.