The late winter snow drifts down peacefully from the sky and covers the world in an innocent blanket of white and despite the newness of it all, something of the past surges right at the back of my mind and threatens to spill over onto the present. But why now? I shouldn’t even have to inquire on the why because I already know that now there is hope and hope is a dangerous creature. There rages a battle on the grounds of my thoughts between the monster that hope has become and a legion of logical and rational soldiers who refuse to allow another second of harm to be caused by the demon, Hope.
It is easy to fall into the pit of despair the more years go by. I find myself in my 28th year of life and wondering if I’ve already passed all the chances that I had to make my life something that I can be happy inside of. Every night I go to bed and I dream of the path that I’d set out on so long ago and with every fork in the road I wish I would have made a different decision. Would the snow falling make me wish for a clean start, a do-over, anything else if somewhere along the line I’d taken the path that scared me most? This level of introspection can’t actually be healthy, but it dampens the impact to spill it all out on the page.
As my world circles around to another time and place, I wonder just how I can seize control of the future. It seems as thought it’s all already mapped out for me and I’m just waiting on the time to come back around so that I can make a different decision. But, in the most immediate desires, the decisions that are available to make may not be the ones that are best for me. In the long-term, I never make a decision that I haven’t thought all the way through … not anymore, all I can see coming from that particular course of action is another pitfall of desolation and unrealized expectations.
A list would probably be helpful, everything seeming so overwhelming and out of my control. I haven’t committed to writing in the way that I ensured that I would and I need to work on that. I need to stop coming up with the excuse of being too tired or it’s too cold in my office. I need to find the time to write every day. When I begin my shifts for CTL I plan on working mornings. The sense of responsibility to my chosen volunteer time will pull me from the grips of my bed many hours before I normal stir from sleep. As I do not know what the scheduling looks like exactly, I’m hoping that there will be a gap of time between my jobs that will motivate me to do a number of things on my list: reorganize and clean my office, redecorate/organize and clean my bedroom, take a 30 minute walk every day, write at least 750 words each day, spend more time in the woods, and wash my car.
It seems like a list of mundane tasks to accomplish, but if I can work that into my every day I think that I’ll be happier about the state of my life right now. It gives me something to work towards and one goal leads to another. The first step is to begin going to sleep earlier than before and rising earlier. Since it isn’t unusual for me to crawl out of bed around noon, my goal for next week is to get up every day at 10 AM. Eventually I’ll be able to rise at 8 AM and spend the majority of my hours waking instead of sleeping. I already maintain a full day with 4-6 hours of sleep or less, usually much less, now I just need to shift the hours to a time of better functioning.
Eventually I’m going to need to take a third job that actually pays something. With the limit on my hours due to my primary means of employment, I’m not sure what I’d best be suited to. I’ve considered taking a paper route as it feeds into my already established nocturnal tendencies, but the option to write freelance is always available. I’m going to look further into some of those things to see what I can come up with. I need another source of income yesterday.
Back to the grind of mundane life, but with a new sense of purpose and goals and shit.