Every day,
the same fucking routine.
The brain always in a fog,
thinking about the next task,
the next problem to be solved,
always the mind in the future,
no breaks, no chance to rest,
not even at bedtime.
It’s bloody exhausting.
It is said that being busy is not a virtue.
It’s laziness.
Idle thinking,
aimless actions,
no thought to being selective.
But I want to be selective!
I have to find a way to clear the fog.
I can’t go on like this.
I think of the Albert Camus quote:
Should I kill myself, or have a cup of coffee?
I brew a coffee.
I grab my journal.
I jot down some questions I think might help.
What will I do when I don’t have to worry about money?
How do I want to live?
My life philosophy sucks, obviously, but what do I want it to be?
What might I regret at eighty?
What is the vision of my life?
For what work would I willingly trade my life energy?
What excitement gets me out of bed in the morning?
What in life is actually worth attaining?
I take a sip of coffee, write:
What would I do if nothing changes in my life?
In the margin, I draw a stick man in a hangman’s noose.
I ponder my list of questions and decide they are all crap.
I cross all of them out.
I decide only two questions really matter,
questions that I know I must answer myself,
without considering the influences of others
or the norms of society,
norms that have already led me to this dismal point of my life,
that I must take my time to think about deeply,
clearing away the chatter in my head
in order to answer them honestly.
How do I define success for myself?
What do I now need to do differently to feel I’m living that successful life?