Words

A forewarning: I don't know where I'm going with this post. I merely woke up at 8:30am and told myself I'd do something while I had my coffee, other than hit the stumble button 1500 times.

My project-a-day..project... has been a good thing for me, I think. I wanna recap all the things I've done, if I can remember them all:

LED lights, making my living room/kitchen look like a Miami nightclub at all hours

Quit smoking

Became a runner (still a novice with bad shoes, mind you)

Almost completely removed the resentment I had towards my job. Almost.

Made a habit of reading books with either a notebook or a highlighter

Grow garlic (still working on this one, it's in a mason jar with water and has rooted)

Spend less money, on everything

Eat better

Still working on writing more. Hello blog.

That's not all of them. Sometimes, running is my project. I still have a lot of things I want to do, and some of them take time and planning. Like visiting Macchu Pichu, for instance. Anyway, the point is that while I haven't yet gotten discouraged, things are slowing down, but in that graceful, paced kind of way. You know, the way these things are supposed to feel, without that manic breath down your neck shoving you every which way.

If anything, the lack of mania has made my resolve stronger and more focused. I am finally getting it through my thick skull that I can pull it off, what ever "it" may be, and I don't have to bend or slow down for anything. Belief was the project every day, from day one. It sounds so simple, but I guess years of sedentary sediment has done it's work. I have strata to dissolve now. Kind of like dissolving your stomach fat to reveal the ab muscles that have been there the whole time.

Oh, but once it starts, it goes down like acid down a mountain. I'm fucking up all sorts of shit.

The one, sort of bad but not really, thing is that I (sort of, not with all my heart or anything) wanted this to stop my escapist fantasies. I thought that if I systematically do the things I want to do and make every day useful, that I'd stop mind-wandering and wishing I was travelling all the time. It seemed like the source for a lot of my discontent, wanting those things. And truly, I have a pretty nice life here, about which I shouldn't complain.

I should have known better.

Instead, what it did was make the tedious more nerve-wrecking. Made mopping the worst chore in the world. Laundry does not excite me. Staying home all day is the worst torture I could possibly inflict on myself. It makes me angry when I have to do all the dishes and pick up after more than just me. In fact, when I have to do these things, I have to turn on autopilot or I'll blow my top. I told my boyfriend in a very calm voice the other day that if he couldn't pick up his living space, I didn't want him in mine. In short, I'm very aware of every minute I waste my potential.

It's turned my escapist fantasies into plans. Something has jarred loose in my brain, and reattached somewhere else. And I cannot seem to convince myself that this is a bad thing anymore. If I want to go, that's it then. I go. I sell all my shit and I go.

Words, they're just words until I do it.