Nobody Really Reads this Anyway.

Which is fine because I'm going to probably blog here about really depressing things for a while.  Like now.  I'm supposed to be being productive at this very minute, but I'm so freaked out that I can't even do that right.

I think that it's possible I procrastinate because I'm scared.  Which is silly because what scares me is what I'm procrastinating about.  Like, if I didn't procrastinate, it wouldn't be so scary.  Like mouse traps.  If you check them regularly then you can get rid of the mice when they're caught.  But if you don't, then you might smell something gross and when you have to go clean it, it's so much worse than if you'd just done it in the first place.  See, it wouldn't be so scary if I'd just check once a day, but I don't because I'm scared I'll find something I don't want to see.




I don't usually pull my punches with myself.  For instance, when I know I'm doing something wrong, I might hedge about it to others, but I'll flat out tell myself I'm screwing up.  Like right now.  I'm supposed to be cleaning mouse crap up off of some furniture, but instead I'm typing.  Which is only an escape and if I just went to clean the mouse crap up I'd feel better for having to do so.  However I didn't clean up a mouse trap (see earlier paragraph) and so now I have something else to clean up in that area as well and I don't want to. Therefore I'm typing.  Or something like that.

I'd say I needed a vacation, but what would I do?  This place would still be here, looming in the back of my mind like a beast the whole time.  And careless comments thrown out not to be cruel leaves me feeling strung out and edgy.  I have things to do in my life.  Maybe.  If I allow myself to do them.  I can't get stuck forever.

I want to open boxes and chuck things into them at rapid pace, then send them down to goodwill and forget about them.  I want to cry over all the beautiful things I'll never have, and then watch them leave the house.  I wish I was ready for garage season, and I wish I knew what we were doing for lawn mowing and I wish I felt comfortable in my own home.

Perhaps I'm feeling depressed because my birthday is in a week?  One more year added onto the shoulders, and it shouldn't be depressing, but maybe it is.  Getting older isn't "cool" anymore.  You start to realize the things you haven't done and start thinking that maybe it's time to do them, only how are you going to do that exactly?  You do things thinking of the long term, but long term isn't just a phrase anymore, it's your life.  You can't think about getting a car, with a payment that needs to be paid for five years if you're hoping to go to school and live on campus in one.  You can't consider getting rid of your furniture if you're going to still live in a house, but you aren't sure you're going to in a few years.  It's hard to think about going through your library of books and paring them down because you want less than 50 boxes of them next time you move.

Who knows what's going on.  Maybe it's just that it's spring and I should be thinking good things but spring just seems like more work to me.  I could be getting really old, and work is too much work.  Life is a struggle they say, so if I stop struggling, that means I don't want to live.

And I want to live, so I guess I'll go back to struggling now.