Early on I promised to write a long piece about my growing disdain for hyper-violent video games, like the Call of Duty and Battlefield series, and my increasing appreciation of lighter indie game fare. I didn’t lie–I am in fact working on that piece, just not at this moment, because right now I’m writing this particular sentence. So, um, be patient, okay? That little slice of digital literary pie will be served up soon.
And yet, as you probably gleaned from the title of this post, I might not finish that piece soon. You might not see it show up here for a month. Hell, it might not show up at all. Maybe I was lying after all. Perhaps I’m just a rotten bastard and don’t give a date for what you think. Oh fuck, I had to mention dates–the fruit, not the other thing. I love dates, and I would totally love you unconditionally from now until the day I die if you would send me some, dear internet stranger.
But I’m not giving you my address so, um, figure that shit out on your own.
Back to my point, which is this: I might not be as legendarily lazy as Jeff Bridges’ iconic Dude; but holy shit, wow, I’m a human sloth. Look up “procrastination” in a dictionary–any dictionary, really, go ahead–and hey, there I am, flipping you the bird. I have a terrible fear of failure so I put everything off until the absolute last minute. Sometimes, if I think I can get away with it (and, on occasion, even when I know I cannot), I’ll just skip a project altogether, telling myself I’ll get around to it when I’m in the mood, like next year or something. I bet you can guess how often I actually do get around to those projects.
Okay, yeah, maybe I am nearly Dude-esque on the laziness scale.
The source of my oh-fuck-it attitude is not unknown to me. I have a chronic case of lethargy. I don’t say that in the clinical sense. I’m not even sure that’s something you can be diagnosed with…is it? Anyway, I often have zero desire to do anything. I sit in front of my desk, staring at my monitor, hand frozen on my mouse, eyes locked but not really seeing what’s before them. I hate feeling like that, or I suppose I should say I hate not feeling.
Going further down the rabbit hole, I can also point out that which causes my lethargy: my personality and emotional issues, a little thing called borderline personality disorder, or BPD. My emotions often wildly fluctuate, like violent ocean waves, rocking back and forth, up and down, even side to side. I can’t predict how I’ll feel from moment to moment. Certain things, such as songs, lines from a movie, even specific sounds, can trigger new emotions, be they positive or negative. How this causes me to feel lethargic is simpler than you think. I learned long ago to shut myself off from my emotions, feeling nothing inside but a cold stillness, a vague calm empty of meaning–which isn’t remotely healthy.
I don’t like the emotional roller coaster my brain tries to make me ride every day but I loathe cutting myself off from emotions, so I’m trying to find a happy middle ground. So far, I’ve been unsuccessful. Thus I aimlessly wander on a bland, blank, endless road, directionless. But I’m struggling out of this Sea of Endless Nothing, vigorously swimming towards the Shore of Purpose and back into the Land of Determination. This isn’t an easy journey I’m undertaking but I’ll walk every mile with my head held high and my guns ready, whether my fucked-up brain likes it or not.
Oh, um, I suppose the guns I mentioned in that last sentence are a metaphor for my… Hmm… Writing hands? Yeah, let’s go with that, shall we? My writing hands are holstered but ready to spring out when needed. God, no, that’s dumb, so damn dumb.
Just forget I wrote that. I’m too lazy to edit it out.