There are rare moments in my life in which I am legitimately worried about myself. These moments are rare because I'm generally more concerned about the world around me, and how its shortcomings will somehow lead to my violent and embarrassing death.
Lately, though, I've been worried about me. On a very personal level. On a very intimate, face-to-face kinda level. A "hey, me. Sit down. We need to have a chat" level. Get the point?
I've let myself almost completely shut down. I'm slacking in all my work. I can't sleep most nights. I can't even write.
Frankly, my last real year as a student is coming to an end, and there isn't a single thing I'm looking forward to after that. And it scares me. Am I letting that fear paralyze me? Or is that just an excuse?
Pawel might be getting his graphic novel published. I'm incredibly happy for him. But it's also a bit sobering. Rather, it's like a splash of cold water in my face. Here I am, being a lump and not writing, and he's getting published. And I consider myself a writer? I wish I was half as motivated, but I barely know what the hell I'm doing with myself. As the song goes, "we hate it when our friends become successful . . ." because it makes us realize how much we're slacking.
Gonna try to make some headway on the novel this week. I'll feel a lot better if I can.
Likely skipping all of my classes tomorrow to write. I'm brilliant like that. Goddamn daylight saving's.
I think I've got myself pegged pretty well. I'm refusing to do work and apply for jobs because it's easier to pretend the year isn't ending. Yet despite recognizing this, I am unable to stop and fix the problem. Am I too clever for my own good, or an idiot? It's hard to say.
On a less serious note, Super Smash Bros. Brawl is awesome. I <3 Sonic.
Got a lot of shit I need to figure out. Very troublesome.
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