ATTEMPTING TO BRAKE THE AUTOPILOT
Sitting with my hands on the keyboard, I move them up, bending the wrist then dropping it again. My head is inclined, though I don't have to look at the keys to type; typing class years ago ingrained the touch of the alphabet into the tips of my fingers. They move just so in the clickety dance to produce letters, words, sentences, whole paragraphs without any seeming gap between thought and intention. Thought, however, escapes easily or rather has never been here to begin with in this instance, once again I sat to write without the preparation of a subject. Mentally the review of, and discarding of, various ideas has taken place all day, leaving me as yet with nothing that seems worthy of posterity.
It was cold and grey and windy all weekend. A disappointment after the rumor of sunshine and warmer temperatures which I took to be a promise. All weekend long I've felt disconnected, growly, and at odds with myself and others. Working has soothed me only temporarily; it felt more a compulsion than a true desire. And there are things to be done that I am not exactly procrastinating about yet which don't seem to be moving to the top of my to-do list: set up bills for payment, mop floors, purchase birthday presents for the myriad birthdays taking place this last week of the month.
More than anything else I need to stop sabotaging myself over and over with the same stupid cycle. Painful to realize how human one can be, and how driven by the same base impulses of sloth, gluttony and self-pity. Over and over I go, ground and grounded by my own inability to stop myself. No drama, just hard facts.
Am no little locomotive, but repeating I think I can, I think I can must help SOMEWHAT. Hopefully it will at least get me pointing in the right direction even if I still need a shove on my caboose (heh) in order to actually gain momentum. And not just for writing, but for all generalities about the things I dislike about myself. I know there is no one with the power to change things but me.
Bundley Baby Burbling Belated Birthday Wishes to fruganamy!
It was cold and grey and windy all weekend. A disappointment after the rumor of sunshine and warmer temperatures which I took to be a promise. All weekend long I've felt disconnected, growly, and at odds with myself and others. Working has soothed me only temporarily; it felt more a compulsion than a true desire. And there are things to be done that I am not exactly procrastinating about yet which don't seem to be moving to the top of my to-do list: set up bills for payment, mop floors, purchase birthday presents for the myriad birthdays taking place this last week of the month.
More than anything else I need to stop sabotaging myself over and over with the same stupid cycle. Painful to realize how human one can be, and how driven by the same base impulses of sloth, gluttony and self-pity. Over and over I go, ground and grounded by my own inability to stop myself. No drama, just hard facts.
Am no little locomotive, but repeating I think I can, I think I can must help SOMEWHAT. Hopefully it will at least get me pointing in the right direction even if I still need a shove on my caboose (heh) in order to actually gain momentum. And not just for writing, but for all generalities about the things I dislike about myself. I know there is no one with the power to change things but me.
Bundley Baby Burbling Belated Birthday Wishes to fruganamy!
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