Wow, I’m writing a lot at the moment and it’s not even half of what’s in my head. My head is so full of high speed thoughts that I have to get some of them out even if they are immediately replaced by others. Plus I like to write and it’s something that could almost be counted as productive to do with my time.
This time off is meant to be my chance to sort things out. I know I don’t need to know where I’m going right now (although I do wish people would stop asking) but I don’t want to waste it. Occasionally I will have these wild half hours of extreme optimism. From nowhere I will become energised, come up a list of all I can achieve over the next however. How I’m going to get up at a sensible time, go for a run every day, maybe even build up to entering a half marathon, have some sort of schedule. Goals that I want to achieve, a cushion patchworked, a new necklace made. Unimportant things perhaps that aren’t going to change my life but things that could make me just that little bit happier. Unfortunately these moments inevitably occur at stupid o’clock in the morning when it isn’t really feasible to achieve anything. So I go to sleep with plans for my fresh start etched in my brain.
And yet it never happens. I wake up and I can’t begin to face the task of getting out of bed never mind the rest of my crazy schemes. There’s nothing that should prevent me achieving these goals. Hell, I could be out for a run right now or at the very least making cards, if I could just find the motivation to move from this desk. Instead here I sit feeling lower than before because once again I’ve failed to do that which I’m eminently capable of. There is nothing stopping me but me so why don’t I just get out there and do it? But then of course that’s what got me into this situation in the first place. If I could find motivation, stick to schedules, not let things build up then I would never have had to drop out of my course. I’d never have messed my first degree up. I would be what I want instead of what I am.
That’s why I hate the optimism. For the tiny periods it is present, it gives me hope but ultimately all it does is remind me of how little I am achieving. I can’t honestly describe putting some bread in the bread maker (it means I don’t need to leave the house to buy some) as anything other than one of life’s many necessary tasks but that is the sum total of my yesterday and it took hours of effort to even get to that. Deep down I know I could be so much, I cannot live with the fact I am so little.