I’m not as lazy as I think I am.

That one popped out of the primordial soup of my mind last night and I immediately jotted it down because I knew it was big.

I have thought of myself as a very lazy person for more or less my entire life.

And not always in a negative way. I was chatting with a coyote friend this morning when I realized there was a positive correlation between cleverness and laziness.

I think the more clever you are, the more pleasure you get from avoiding work and, of course, the more work you can avoid.

But I have also viewed my “laziness” as a damning character flaw, and that’s unfair, because I’m not really lazy.

Instead, I am :

1. Timid. Afraid of the world. Wracked with anxiety. Makes it hard to want to go out there and take on that world because I’m positive it would win. I have extremely little faith in my survival potential.
2. Sick. Both physically and mentally. My physical illnesses limits my physical energy and my mental illness fucks me over in dozens of ways. Including making me timid as in the above.
3. Poor. Admittedly, this is not as much of a limitation in the direct sense as it used to be. My disability payments went up, things are fairly cool. So it’s more a matter of not knowing what I want and therefore being defeated by all those god damned options out there.
4. Lost. I have been spiritually adrift so long that I no longer believe in land. I have no momentum, no direction, and no goals. All I see is shapes without form in fog without end, signifying nothing.
5. Uninspired. I am sure I would be a much more energetic and productive person if I had a source of inspiration to keep me fired up and excited about life. Instead, I languish in the doldrums trying to get a spark out of wet matches.
6. Disabled. With all that implies.

I don’t want to be like this. I want to be full of energy and enthusiasm and engagement. I want to look forward to tomorrow instead of just tepidly accepting its inevitability.

And I am slipping into panic more and more. Like something is hunting me. Haunting me. And when it GETS me, something terrible is going to happen.

But there’s nothing. Nothing but the ghosts inside my haunted head.

This panic must be coming from energies that trying to take form and be expressed but can’t make it yet so they end up just fizzling out as the waste heat of emotions, anxiety.

At least that’s what it is for me.

But no. This is not anxiety. This is ENERGY. This is POWER. This is the molten metal that I will forge into a bright and shiny exoskeleton for my soft and flabby soul.

And then I will power it with pure psychotic determination and wreak havoc unto this cruel and wanton world until someone gives me a goddamned hug,.

More after the break.

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Rise from your grave

Woke up feeling extra wretched just now. So that’s fun.

I feel very very drained. And sleepy as all fuck. As in, I just woke up from a three hour nap and yet I feel even more tired than I did when I lay down.

No big surprise. Before that nap. I had barely slept at all in the previous 24 hours. One of my thankfully very rare bouts of insomnia, where it feels like I’ve lost connection to the sleep server because no matter how relaxed and comfy and quiet I get, I can’t actually fall asleep.

Thank goodness that ended. And much sooner than usual. In the past, that shit had dragged on for days.

This time, it was barely even 24 hours. So bravo for that, at least.

I also have a heavy, scratchy, sore chest AGAIN. The notion that I have been barely fighting a case of Covid to a standstill rears its ugly head again.

Or some other kind of chest bug. No need to immediately leap to the worst possible conclusion, which would be great news if I could keep myself from doing it.

Regardless, I keep having these periods of malaise and distress and pulmonary fuckery that never quiet turn into a case of anything in particular, and I should be worried.

I’m not, or at least not often and never for long. But I should.

I’m too sick to worry about how sick I am. I just don’t have the energy.

Working on it, though. I am determined to excavate my half-thawed carcass from the not so permafrost of my soul’s deep and dirty tundra, and get to a place where I can live happy and free in the golden warmth of my own sunshine.

Because if I can shine for the rest of the world. I can shine for myself.

Migosh but the words are coming hard right now. Like each one has to be surgically extracted without the benefit of Novocain.

I feel so very very sleeeeeeeept. Like I got cement bags on my eyelids and sash weights tied to ever joint and all I really want is to lay down in the dark and sleep.

Less than 100 words to go. I can do this.

All this Diet Pepsi (they were out of Diet Coke) isn’t helping it all.

Dunno if I will make it on time to the usual snacks and Colbert at midnight. It’s 10:04 pm already and I feel a major snooze coming on.

If I don’t make it, sorry Joe and Julius. I meant well.

But my body and brain clearly need this.

Last 25 words or so. The finish line is in sight. My fans are waiting there and my nipples are bleeding and it’s time for the big triumphant ending.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.