I often lose focus. It’s not that I’m not committed or dedicated to what I do, it’s just that there’s so much to be done. I’ve been working a 12 hour day almost every day and I still have art projects I’m working on. Errands to run. Bills to pay. Sometimes I think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. Other times I think if I spent less time looking at funny animals on the internet I would get more done.
I try to stay motivated. It’s so damn hard sometimes. I worked myself into oblivion a few years back, and it’s taken me forever to recuperate. When I think about it, it’s sort of funny. I cut from 12 hour days to 8-10 last year. I was still working 40 hour weeks and competed more than 50 pieces of art, and still felt that I was slacking. Oh, the thoughts and feelings of a self abusing workaholic.
The sense that everything will fall apart if I slow down permeates my mind. Most of the time I don’t know if it’s paranoia or logic. I do understand I need to make it stop. I understand that I need to take time to enjoy my life, and appreciate my blessings. It’s so damn hard. The world is not on your shoulders, TIm. You are not Atlas.
One day I will realize it. Until then I have work to do.
These days are not beautiful or joyous. They are not beams of sunshine basking your face. They’re a kick to the shins. They’re a bleak reminder of just how little you have grown. Of how the problems you created when you were 16 have only intensified and burst forth into a crescendo of madness and broken glass. Of how simple and fragile the ego is, and how when you strip a man of his facade, he is nothing more than a quivering boy who is covering his nakedness in shame.
Ignorance is truly bliss, for if I was less self aware, I wouldn’t stride through my life with my ego firmly placed in the pilot seat. Maybe I would exhibit some of the compassion I press so heavily on those who care to listen. Maybe, just maybe, I would think about what consequence of action means, and what it really means to care for another more than I care for myself.
Instead, I repeat the past in an endless cycle of samsara and cause only grief and pain to those around me. I stubbornly cling to what I believe, because I know, with all of my heart, that I could not POSSIBLY be wrong. I am an intelligent man. I have studied religion and philosophy and spirituality. I have spent years probing the depths of my conscience. How is it that I could be wrong? I know what I am, and I know that I am good and pure. But am I? Am I really a good and wholesome man? I’m sure one day I’ll crack and expose myself to the world in an ultimate act of self destruction, but that day is not today.
Liar. Asshole. Piece of shit. Wear your monikers, Timothy. You know you have earned them.