I’m not in the mood to write anything technical. I just don’t want to. I don’t know if I’m bored, burned out, disinterested, been-there-done-that, any of the above, none of the above. Sounds like apathy. I don’t think it is because I care about technical writing. I don’t care for silly, self-serving blog posts about how great I think I am because I wrote a piddly little gem. I don’t particularly want to sell my own brand even though the entire community of like-living individuals does that very thing.
I feel annoyed, anxious, frustrated, tired, or something. I feel annoyed that I don’t care about doing this. I did care about doing this. What happened? Where did it go? What is it that I really want to do? Do I want to do anything? I’m not really sure where I’m at. Am I just getting old? Did I already do everything I wanted to do? What color is my parachute? Why the fuck would I want to jump out of plane right now?
I think I need someone to push me and someone I can push. I have challenges all around me, but I’m not motivated to go get them. What the hell happened? I had a whole path laid out. I was really going to get shit done. I put the things I wanted to do on a spreadsheet. I did some of them. I got some others going. So … what?
Why am I even writing this? I guess, because it’s the one thing I feel like I need to do. Nothing else feels as important. I don’t want to do anything else right now. I don’t want to code anything. I don’t want to send any fucking emails. I don’t want to watch TV. I don’t want to play any games. Am I melting down? My brain wants to let loose of something. What the fuck is it? Come the fuck out already?
I want to get angry! Just let this shit out. But nothing’s coming. I just keep typing stuff. The dubstep is really appealing to me right now. I stare at this screen and “Caspa” drones on in the background with my desk and walls reverberating. Caaaaasssppppaaaa.
Whatever. I need some excitement I think. Something to get this body going. My mom recently hinted at some yoga/buddhist stuff. It said there are three types of people. I’m not going to bother looking this shit up for a silly post, so from memory they are: Vatta, Pita (spelling?), and Kapha. I took a test and the test scored me with 9 parts Vatta, 12 parts Pita, and 12 parts Kapha. What the hell does that even mean? I can’t even have a distinct personality type? I have to be a bunch of everything? I’m a waif that needs to be warmed up because I’m cold, but I’m also some other contradicting bullshit. And to top that off, there are counter personality types for when you’re in a phunk … but, what the shit. Which funk am I even in. I’m screwed.
If I wrote some code write now, I’d probably get into it, but I also know I have to get up early in the morning and when I get into coding I keep going and then I’m tired the next day and the next week and then I get sick. So … I sit. I debate with myself whether I should be productive and code. If not code, then what? I have some annoying internal drive to be productive. I have another internal drive that does not want me to be tired. I have too many drivers. I feel like I’m in drivers-ed. Someone is sitting in my passenger seat with their very own steering wheel, brake, and gas pedal. Give it back to me! Don’t even think about touching that! Where did you come from anyways? What do you want?
Internal conflict is a bitch. I don’t even want to edit this post, but … no, I do want to edit this post. I need to leave me alone. Maybe this is all normal. Maybe I’m normally crazy. I am cursed with indecision caused by a desire for a realistic perfection.
I think my brain wants to escape from all of this reality. It’s fed up and wants to me grab some surreality by the neck scruff and paint the walls with it. Splat. I think I, more than my productive counterparts whom I look upon with admiration and bewilderment, need this escape. I have two sides and they compete like crazy. I think the personality test proved that. I am no one thing. I have many sides. As much as I would like to be one for the routine simplicity of it - and at times I can be quite successful at being fruitfully, simplistically, productive with all my eggs hatching and with all my orderly ducks obeying - my biorhythms are such that I will have a proportional fall into a crest of surreality. My other half demands it. Sometimes I fall somewhere in the middle and for those brief moments I am normal?
I have no idea what in the hell I’m talking about.
Did I ever mention I’m afraid of dying. Bah … that’s an old story. Don’t really feel like talking about it. Something in me wanted to. Probably my banality.
Tomorrow, I will want to write more. However, my brain will tell me that I did my writing yesterday and sacrificed precious productive hours in order to do it. So I will tell myself I had better work. I will feel guilty for not working. But then I won’t write. Conflict ensues. I feel blah about it and do nothing due to my weakness. Indecision is my kryptonite.
Have I written long enough yet? Have I wasted enough time such that starting to code now will be pointless because it’s well past 11p? Have I escaped my responsibilities for the day? Will I need to do this to give myself an excuse from working without feeling bad about doing nothing on my couch?
Probably. Probably not.
The best part is I’m writing this on my fancy blog thing. This must mean I want people to read it and feel something. What do I want you to feel? I guess I want to know if you do feel and that if you do that you feel something like me or nothing like me? Maybe I’m reaching out. Groping my way into the wild to find out who gives a shit. I don’t think it’s an attention grab. A large part of me really just wants to write this just to get out.
Tomorrow I’ll probably feel like a dork for writing it and putting it out. But, I’m committing and deploying tonight so too late, you.
Go to bed.
