no doubt so often i am consumed by ambitions the nature of which i never follow through
oftentimes i am paralyzed by assessing atrophied past projects~
passions never given enough blood to live
a life outside a mental life.
a frozen narrative of guilt for not-doing.
example: consistent input on this website
recordings of music
restructured paper collage
writing a natural history of anxiety
running up Queen Anne hill every morning
stretching the wrecked left shoulder and strained lowback every night
saving money by going out less
there are so many better ways to live. so much of this is habit. falling into old rhythms of dysfunction and malnourishment of the mind, the ambition still there in the bright eyed reflections when looking inward, but the outside, the real, is necessarily pushed aside. the weight of a catatonic depression lingering like a wet cotton sweatshirt in the lingering cold. the winter was fucking rough. i got into a habit of self-destruction in the sense of letting great ideas (art therapy ideas?) atrophy and turn ghostly. i got into a habit of setting myself up to fail rather than succeed. change the mindset now that tulips are coming up and it snowed yesterday.
always moving through. always coursing through. stop staggering.