Lousy, Loser Days

Do not ask me to count my blessings. The last time I check, they were far and few.

I often ask myself what I am doing these days that contribute to what I hope to do eventually.

And just what the fuck do I intend to do now that I admit (Oh I do, I do) to a general embittered procrastination that screams quietly 'when I'm less tired, dear, we'll think and talk more.'

When I remember, when work fails to distract and distance me, when peripherals take over their rightful place, when I know I'm on my good way to letting myself down.

I really don’t think it’s a great thing that I’m too bogged to think carefully and plan actively and start executing madly so. I’m belaboured by work and the tree is not dripping fruits. Because I’m busy enough not to have planted the seed.

Work keeps me grounded in many ways. I’m often fatigued at the end of it (and there’s usually no end which means I’m tired all the time).

Which means I can’t fly.

Dreams become flatter.

The reality check breeds suspicion which feeds off the flatness to become this bloated, ugly monster of unconscionable self-doubt. After all, it can only mean bad, bad news that I’m growing increasingly skeptical even of what have been perceived and acknowledged to be my strengths all these years.

How do you cope when one day, you conclude irrevocably and irrefutably that you are only mediocre?

I don’t want to know, because I don’t need to, because I will never make such a conclusion.

Lousy, Loser Days will pass. And so will Today. I can sleep it away.