that I am in some kind of stasis at the moment. I'm not sure what has happened. Maybe I'm frozen in time, watching hundreds of years pass me by, so that I can be woken up and then asked to assist a future civilization in learning how to write pithy comments on whatever social media sensation they have implanted in their retinas.
Maybe I'm having trouble finding motivation because when I sit down to work I can only get an hour - tops - to myself. And that is usually at the end of a long day when I just want to watch stupid idiots on that Gold Rush show talk about glory holes in an absolutely sincere, non-porno way.
Maybe I've lost my will to put up with bullshit. But in this loss of the will to deal with bullshit, I've lost the will to do anything else, either. There are stacks of tedious things that Must Be Done. And the more they Must Be Done, the more I ignore them. This is very out of character for someone is OCD and afraid of paying bills late. And yet... waiting until the third notice to pay $22 to the radiologist is something I don't find particularly bothersome anymore.
Mostly, I just want to sit on the couch. But I don't really want that. I don't know what I want. Maybe I want a sensory deprivation tank. Maybe I'm already IN a sensory deprivation tank.
This is what happens to writers who are on submission and people who don't want to deal with medicaid and mothers who are starting to wonder if it can't just be OK for an almost four-year-old to hardly ever eat solid food.
I might be having a Total System Shutdown.
Though that sounds awfully melodramatic. I'm not melodramatic. I'm not anything. I'm just floating through a series of endless days that are all the same. They each have little pleasures like my afternoon iced coffee and waking up in the morning to several pairs of sparkling brown eyes that all are as thrilled to see me as I am to see them. But these days also have this never-ending loop of sameness.
I'm feeling like I might be on the verge of some kind of freak out, but I don't know which kind yet. Will it be the kind where I put on work gloves and throw all of the toys and furniture out on the curb for bulk pick-up day? Will it be the kind of freak-out where I start some horrifying habit like jogging? Will it be the kind of freak out where I put tarps over all of the screens in the house and start writing longhand while the children wail and gnash their teeth? What will it be? It has to be something. I can't keep sitting on the couch like this.
Sitting on the couch gives an impression of tolerance; that I tolerate that things are not quite right, that I tolerate that I am in stasis, that I tolerate that everyday is the same. And I don't want to tolerate any of this. Yet, I feel as weirdly powerless to fix it as I feel weirdly powerless to edit out all the "that"s in the horribly structured sentence above.
GET OFF YOUR ASS, SELF.
Maybe I really should start jogging.
God, that sounds terrible.