(no subject)
I've been grateful to be kept busy lately. I spent most of my youth dreading the days when my free time would be in short supply. Now that I'm here, free time almost freaks me out. I become dysfunctional and indecisive. I want to go every direction at once. I want to play the guitar, run, swim, shower, read, walk around the apartment naked and rent a movie all at the same time. As a result, I end up stuck on the couch arrested by contemplation. I almost invariably end up doing nothing at all. Then I feel depressed, like I participated in some sort of wasteful affair; the mass killing of buffalo for no more than their hides. Or driving a Hummer and getting only 7 miles to the gallon. Except that time is worth so much more than gasoline or buffalo carcasses.
I've realized that I thrive in high importance chaos. Cluttered dockets and a busy high-priority filled agenda keep me well-oiled and keen. In intentional spite of my lazy youth, I feel good about myself to have many things to do. But that's not the only reason I keep my days booked. I am terrified of slowing down enough to get lonely. To miss my family. To want my friends to be a short drive away. To question my purpose here in Houston.
I've realized that I thrive in high importance chaos. Cluttered dockets and a busy high-priority filled agenda keep me well-oiled and keen. In intentional spite of my lazy youth, I feel good about myself to have many things to do. But that's not the only reason I keep my days booked. I am terrified of slowing down enough to get lonely. To miss my family. To want my friends to be a short drive away. To question my purpose here in Houston.