bumps in the road

These days motivation is hard to come by. I'm starting to find it boundlessly comical how much of my life is based on motivation or the lack thereof. After hours of chasing sleep, I sometimes find comfort in the thought that tomorrow is in fact a new day, and the refreshing limitless potential allows me to find enough of a recharge to maintain sanity in a dark, serene, lonely place. Then, often without warning, through the trickery of a dreamless lapse in time, the morning arrives.

There are exceptions. There are nights that the weight of my past choices don't haunt me. There are nights I find at peace enough with myself that I can allow exhaustion to run its course. Somehow, when this rare occurrence chooses to manifest, I'm allowed to take a breath and relax to an extent that I felt often when I was a child after an active summer day. I'm a fool for taking such an immense feeling for granted for so long.

However, more often then not, I just lay there, waiting for the morning sun to arrive with its false hopes which have been imagined over the past five hours. Still air reminds me that I'm in the same place I was yesterday, and the smart money predicts that Ill be standing in those same footprints tomorrow. Forcefully and clumsily, I relocate as the aches and stiffness remind me of how time shows absolutely no remorse. I initiate the morning routine of avoiding the mirror as I step into the shower to scrub away the accumulated grime of the last 24 hours, highly ashamed of what I've allowed my body to become over the last eight years. I look around and focus on the corners where dust and dirt have accumulated, only to dismiss it for a project to be attended to at a time to be determined. I put on the the worn clothes that Ive gathered over the years that have showed some sense of persona which at one point I was comfortable. I sit down in the chair ready to check all of the non direct passive communications that I fear this world now deems as a socially acceptable means of interaction. I search for signs of life.

I then focus on the icon that ignites these passages. Its a project which Ive been working on for quite some time now, much longer than it should've taken. I sit, and remember where this has taken me thus far. I recall the feelings of freedom and purpose. I imagine all of the material positions that this will allow me. But for some unbeknown reason to the writer, I just cant find the motivation to continue its development at a pace that I would call "productive". I know that Ive become well versed regards to this subject and for this, i am proud. I know its where i want to be. "I know its where i will be"

The guilt of my time line. The guilt of my product of change. The guilt of things I have and have not done. Its almost overwhelming. If only I could have better prepared myself for all of these bumps. My resilience is close to depleted.

Until motivation finds me though, I have plenty of distractions. Let's hope that the ability to discard those which provide a negative tone remains.