too old and cold and settled in its ways

no resolutions worth writing down at the start of the new year.  and why?  not because i don’t need to improve.  not because i have no lack of things to do, to work on, to accomplish, to aspire to become.  because, like so many days, i awake and find myself lazy.  yet again.

i feel.  passive, wasteful, useless.  so much free time is a blessing.  it should be, it should be everything i’ve been hoping for, to make use of myself in a way that is productive and good and for growth.  i have so much to become.  and what am i doing? sitting on my hands with my head somewhere unknown, and a restless excuseless heart. 

oh i could say i’m tired.  i could say i’m ill.  i could say my heart and soul are full and overfull aching and coming apart at the seams and need a rest.  exhausted from so much work and  too many tears and years of time filled with things i had to do.  things i was told to do, assigned to do, pressed and graded asked and expected to do.  i could say that.  and i wouldn’t be lying.  but that is no reason.  it’s no reason to explain this endless laziness, hours of mindless television watching and sleeping endlessly and looking at the end of the week and wondering what happened in all of those empty hours.  and wondering what i would be if those empty hours were instead somehow full.  i don’t mean that they need to be full of work and tangible accomplishment.  i don’t need to mark my success on a bed post.  but i need to feel it.  to feel myself trying.  feel myself growing.  feel myself being warm.

meloncholic monotony, boredom, and sloth.  it is a terrible and suffocating self-imposed disease.

but perhaps, just perhaps a part of me is going crazy now because i want to be told what to do.  just tell me, and i’ll do it.  just make me, and i’ll do it.  tell me my exsitence depends upon it.  and that is my ultimate fear.

i’m so afraid.  so afraid that i’m not who i say i am.  not in a literal sense, but in that i can’t accomplish anything without being moved by some external force.  i’m terrified sometimes, that what i have inside simply isn’t enough.  that i can’t do all the things i claim i want.   that i can’t because i don’t really care.  i say i care so much, and sure i may show it from time to time, i do and i’m not ignoring that.  it’s so easy to talk, but so hard to do.  and today, and often, i feel like a god damn fake.