Laziness or Fear?

September 22, 2010

I’m not lazy. I’m motivationally challenged. Seriously, if it doesn’t give me instant gratification or I’m not getting paid to do something I am not motivated to it. Whatever “it” is. In this case it’s packing, cleaning and moving in a week and a half. I look at the tasks in front of me and get a surge of anxiety and panic seeing all that is in front of me. My head knows that I have plenty of time and can do it in baby steps but my anxiety tells me to panic and freak out. I do a little of both. Actually, I panic more than work.

Most of my life things almost always fell into place for me. As I get older I find I actually have to do the work. Now that I have a God in my life I want to sit back and let things happen but it doesn’t work that way. Many religionists say that “faith without works is dead” meaning I have to do the footwork. The job will not just appear. I have to look. The move will not just happen. I have to pack and do the moving then unpacking. Money will not just magically appear. I have to go out and earn it. The girl won’t appear. I have to keep my eye out. The list goes on.

Everyone around me is excited and happy about the new house I am moving into. Everyone except for me. To my room mate and my friend who is renting me the house it’s a brand new adventure in a really beautifully furnished house. To me it’s work, responsibility and a major change in my routine. I’ve been pretty spoiled since I lost my job the end of May. I’ve been busy but I’ve been doing everything that I want to do. Sitting on my porch writing and creating has been wonderful. Low rent. Minimal responsibility. Money in the bank to cover me.

Now it’s going to all change and I feel my world turning upside down. It frightens me. It creates anxiety. I’m moving into the real world and I’m afraid that I can’t handle it. My savings have dwindled. My unemployment isn’t much. I have a lot of bills. I haven’t lived with anyone besides my parents and girlfriends in years. I hate to publicly admit my fears but they are there. Despite my daily contact and dependence on God I am still afraid of the unknown. I can’t shake it.

Sure I suffer from a few disorders that are sometimes crippling but so do a lot of people that live responsible productive lives. Writing about it helps ease the anxiety but it also keeps me away from actually doing anything to help with the move. Any little thing or commitment that I have seems like a big deal to me right now. Even small things like making coffee or emptying the ashtray seems like a major chore.

This too shall pass. I know this to be true. Next month Ill be settled in my new dwelling and probably have a job lined up or an additional source of income besides unemployment and I’ll look back and wonder why I made such a big seal out of everything. That’s what I do. Worry. Repress. Get anxious. Put it off until it has to be finished then do it. It’s done. So is this rant about myself. Thank God.




I am a Slug

June 20, 2010

A little something I wrote on April 11th 2009.

I am a slug. I move slowly and eat and shit and sleep and for a few hours a week I move slowly through a job I hate so I can afford to eat and shit and sleep. I’m stuck in this prison shell of a body that looks like a man. An over weight, hairy, balding, middle aged, hunch backed, foot dragging man. I wasn’t always like this. A slug. I was once a young man full of energy that did things. I moved and shook like the best of the movers and shakers. Now I can feel my skin loosen and my limbs get weaker as I slide freakishly slow through a day as if one day everything will fall off my body and the transformation will be complete.

I am a slug. I move slowly and eat and shit and sleep. Love, passion, romance, creativity are not for me. Not this slug. Hope is not for this slug. Dreams are not for this slug. This ole slug is already set in his ways. Eat and shit and sleep. Eat and shit and sleep.


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