Skip to main content

I can't help wondering if it'd just be easier....

Wait, what was I supposed to be doing, again....?

Showering? Vacuuming? Making myself a (healthy) dinner? Finishing the laundry? Stripping my bed and remaking it...? Getting my student loans consolidated.....?

Oh, wait, that's right. I'm blogging.


So I told on myself to the sponsor. I told him I've been quite willfully lazy the last couple of days--I keeping having obvious 3rd step moments, and when it comes to turning it over and taking right action...I choose lazing off and indulging in whatever distraction's most readily available instead.....

What's especially painful/prominent about this all is how easy it would be to do something right & responsible instead of opting for willful laziness again & feelling shitty for it. I'll have as big an opportunity to switch directions as having a cigarette between one distraction and before starting another, and I'll realize...I should do something, like get up and walk the dogs or clean the litterbox. Or pray a bit for the strength to push back my anxiety just long enough to get something done for once.

You know, turn it over. Take action. Something.

But I won't even get halfway through forming such a thought, such a prayer, before I feel the lure of laziness, the ease of malaise. Nap, just a little...or do something...anything...or nap, easy as that, just a bit of a nap...or do something, even something gratifying like working out and sexifying up....but I'm tired and don't feel well and don't want to think about this anymore....so....nap, I guess it is.....

And I'll go curl up in bed. And nap.

If I'm sleeping, or watching a movie, or perusing the endlessness of the internet, I don't have to think so much. I can ignore the constant, harsh chatter of my mind and enjoy false serenity.

Which is where things start to get weird. It's like I feel slightly indignant to have considered anything else but indulging myself. It's like I relish the laziness, the relief, the personal "freedom"--the sense of "control" it lends me. It's closely guarded. I even get a little angry somewhere inside when my mom asks me to do things around the house--as though she were imposing on my rights & me-time. I never say anything about it to her, of course, that would require doing things and probably arguing or talking things out. No, I just avoid doing them as well & easily as I already avoid doing anything else I'm supposed to be doing.

Like, even now, I'm supposed to be showering--or at least dressing myself decent--so I can go out to a meeting and get outside my head for an hour or two at least. But I feel pulled back toward my bed....

It's so tough sometimes. Action requires decisions, which entails considerations and complexity. Inaction is an oblivion. If I've lost myself to a nap or the internet, I can stop worrying, for now, about all the whatevers.

Ironically it's an oblivion that still requires so much work, so much effort. At my worst, I have to pay attention to when there's no one in the kitchen (right above me) before getting food. I avoid showering because that requires me to go up to the 2nd floor--right past my parents' room. And of course I have to fight more and more shame and worry every day as I push off more responsibilities. It helps that I'm forgetful/ADHD. If I stop thinking about something for as long as 5 minutes I'm liable to forget it for maybe 5 hours. But of course it always comes back, haunting....

Goddamnit. I don't even want to finish this post. I don't want to go do shit. I just want to curl up in my warm bed with my kitty and sleep a long while. >.<

But, it's already been set in motion. It's what I need to do. I need to be around people. Hear their voices. Consider their thoughts and lives and find some perspective. Do something to get outside my head. Or I might hole up here for a much longer while.

So, here I go...

I hope there's cake.

Comments

Other things that might interest you...

On aging, and fear.

To begin with, I’m not sure you’re aware of it, but I’m middle aged. Oh? What gave it away? Using a blog as my primary literary medium?¹ Hm. But in fact, the APA defines 35 years as the end of “young adulthood.” Yeah. I found out via some shitpost on twitter when I was already 35, so it didn’t sit well with me then either. But my worries about aging began much sooner than that. See, even in my 20s, I feared I’d been wasting my life. I’d struggled with school and life and everything since graduating high school, arguably sooner, and nothing seemed to be going anywhere meaningful . I felt I had a limited social life, a dead-end job, no money, no great travels, a limping love life; I was, generally, a loser, wasting away... There were none of the usual hallmarks of success or happiness. And that scared me. Would my life have been worth it if I continued in this direction? Would it have been a “life well lived” by the end? So, this is my existential struggle. Even now, as I lurch ever nea

Changing lanes.

I was driving home in some traffic last night when I drifted, in my mind, a long way back (about 20 years) to high school. I was caught in one of those periodic traffic slowdowns as I floated back; you know, those waves of congestion that seem to pass backward through the columns of cars in each lane. (I've heard they start because someone switches lanes, and in response, a rippling emergent slowness travels backward and outward as the cars behind it accommodate the change, one by one.) What drew me back to those younger days was that, back in high school, similar phenomena of congestion took place in the halls between classes, when eddies of young humans would get caught in and around those clumps of those chatting by lockers or retrieving books. Occasionally, backups would occur when groups of people got caught in these eddies, or collided with other groups by the lockers, and slowdowns would ripple back from there. Maybe it's not exactly the same, but as I drove it seemed si

On phases and fixations.

My fixations are powerful, but they can also be maddeningly ephemeral and fleeting. And I hate that; about them and, honestly, about myself. But I’ve never really  asked why I feel that way... I'll commit immense amounts of time and energy and even money to a fixation for a few weeks, maybe even a month or two, sometimes rebranding my whole personality around it, then just...move on. I'm not sure when I first noticed this pattern—if it was always there or if it emerged and intensified over time—but it's been part of me for a long while. And every time I do, I feel such guilt and shame. Who even am I if I can't be consistent, dedicated, substantive? How disingenuous is it that nothing I care about lasts? I’ve always just accepted those feelings; I’ve never poked at them in earnest. If you can’t tell from the recent flurry of activity on this blog, I have been fixated on blogging; I mentioned in a recent post about this blog that I had a compulsion to revamp the whole bl