Monday, November 5, 2012

I have a pair of Nike workout shoes. They aren't the neon kind but they are still stylish enough, as long as I keep them in good condition. In fact, in order to preserve their life, I have postponed preserving my own, by not running or working out in any measure. The problem is that I really want the neon kind, but until I wear out my old blue ones, I don't have a reason to get them.

I try to convince myself that I am useful because I am smart. Because I wake up in the middle of the night with mysterious poems running through my mind. But during the day I waste time. I cook random things that I don't end up eating and I try to fold the laundry absolutely perfectly. I make lists and write down ideas, and I spend all of my time feeling remorse for not doing anything more. I figure that the next best thing to doing something is feeling bad for not doing it. I have started to tell myself that even though I don't accomplish much, it's okay because at least I feel bad about it. I say that I don't actually enjoy laying around, which makes it okay to.

I don't know when I came to this conclusion, but I am very suddenly realizing it's not a good way to percieve myself, my life and my accomplishments. I don't think I can any longer be satisfied with being lazy but disturbed by it. If it was so disturbing, I probably wouldn't participate as much. I'm sick of taking satisfaction out of unsatisfaction.

"Take the weakest thing in you, and then beat those bastards with it. And always hold on when you get love, so you can let go when you give it."

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