An internal struggle perpetually rages on inside of my mind. Each day I forgo any creative work or physical betterment, I end, shutting my eyes to disappointment. Even the days at which I’m able to complete one or both at some significant plateau, it’s not enough. But there are some days where I am able to complete a substantial amount of one or both that I’m able to achieve a temporary nirvana; and it’s there in that moment, that I’m truly living.
But lately the “other side” has been winning. Lately… Ha. The days in which I’m mentally aimless have overtaken the tipping point of the metaphorical scale. It’s here in the weight’s free-fall, that I find myself. I claw at the edges of the plate resting upon the waning side, hopelessly and desperately looking for something on which to grab.
Some days I find something, as small as it may be to hold on to; a spark of creativity on which I place the burden of the day’s report card. How did I do today? D-
I long for those days where I could get exercise, compose, and/or rediscover Zen. It’s funny, I had once touted a way to keep physically fit: balancing the bad food and the good, letting the latter to eventually overtake its former. And I look to that analogy for this eternal battle of daily monotony. That scale is leaning in the wrong direction.
Shuffling mindlessly through the abyss of each day only offers the revelation that I am failing. The void widens, as I let it slip, fighting just to keep my writing tasks in which I set forth weekly afloat… quickly becoming chores and not enjoyable as they once were. I haven’t free-written like this in weeks and the absence ends up causing said emptiness.
It’s time for something new. And if that’s something old rewrapped in a fancy wrapping paper, then so be it. At least I’ll have better luck achieving that enlightenment.