I had an odd thought today that shook me. I asked myself, “what am I doing?”. I have been watching my playlist of movies on an endless random cycle all day, and in the space between when one movie ends and another begins my mind is free to wander. The trouble came from the stark realization that I had nothing to do, or at the very least, no desire to do it. What bothered the most was my inability to answer my own question. It became a goal-less, unenthusiastic view of my entire existence where I was doing nothing to the point of insanity. Disabled by a lack of ingenuity, surrounded by my own filth I found refuge in this, writing about my own malaise.
I have found it annoying in the past when I am under stimulated. Some words start to escape my mind as I try to think of them, even simple ones that people use everyday; I start to feel like I have Alzheimer’s. I can think of things I’d rather be doing but quickly lose the resolve to put them into action. Its not depression, I do not feel that pit of despair as if all action and thought are meaningless, but an angst that I am not doing enough. But then I ask myself, what is enough? Did I not pay my bills today? Did I not take care of matters that provide me the life of lounging that I am so privileged to have?
You bet your sweet candy ass I did. If anyone that isn’t a spam robot actually does read this blog post; I hope they know that this is not a message of despair, but of boredom. A creative conduit to ease my mind in times of complete… BLEEGH, which ultimately becomes the noise in my head as I cycle through the thought that I should be doing more. There is always more to be done, our hustle and our drive never ends until we are dust in the ground and only then do our minds silence the nagging thoughts that we could have been better on this day.
Not everyday is the day you save the world. We need quiet to hear our own needs, and possibly, through random chance, we encounter the next moment that defines us. However, on the days that are too quiet, without the random chances, we are perplexed by isolation. Are we doomed to live the rest of our lives like this? I don’t think so. Everyday is different, the little nuances and thoughts and stimuli that come our way changes, perhaps by the lunar cycle, or the humidity in the air, we perceive different things every second.
It is in this area of uncertainty I place my faith, for nothing is really certain, nothing is stable or guaranteed, the only thing that is really real is the thing in front of you, the people around you, and the heart beating in your chest. We cannot dote on the inconsequential thought of how insatiable life is, and our thirst for adventure and excitement can never be quench and dwelling on what we lack the initiative to change becomes a practice in self loathing, bordered by the inhospitable mental prison of lethargy. So I will take this boredom and write it down, send it to people who might understand or sympathize in the hopes that my narcissism won’t go to waste.