Too Many Rabbits

Instructor.  Reader.  Runner.  Wealthy.  Healthy.  Stronger. Writer.  Belle’s bucket list.  All things I thought I would be or do by now.  All things that I thought were being held back by my having to devote attention to finishing my undergrad.  All things I foresee some defined but undefined tangible definition of achieving, and all things I’ve yet to truly, by my unclear definition, actually achieve.  All things I’ve been devoting various degrees of effort to, tending them simultaneously like various crops in a garden.  All things I want to see accomplished, and all things giving me various amounts of stress any time I lose the ability to really tend to them like I want to.

By the writing of this post I thought surely I would have made more of a dent in the ever growing mountain of books sitting on my shelves waiting to be read.  I thought I would be observationally stronger, and each day that I leave something, or, more accurately, everything on my to do list unaccomplished, it chips away more and more at my motivation, seeds greater discouragement in my heart and cements my theory that despite all my ambitions I am destined for mediocrity.  I was so sure that postgrad life was going to be the opening of a door of endless opportunity to achieve all that I couldn’t during college.  Somehow though I’m busier than ever, and each day before I go to bed I think about what preoccupied my time so heavily, and realize it was a lot of nothing.  I’m coming up on a year removed from college, and I have virtually nothing to show for it.  Am I stronger? Nope.  Am I a more voracious reader?  Not at all.  Has my dog’s bucket list been sufficiently crossed off?  Barely.  Do I have more money because I’ve had time to properly budget and prioritize expenses? Good one.  Am I a certified instructor? Hopefully in a month, but at the moment I am not.  What I am is frustrated, discouraged, and disgusted with myself for having done nothing more than return to the same job and work in circles for 6-12 hours a day with nothing to show.  I want something to be proud of, and right now my trophy shelf is barren and dusty.

Maybe I’ve been too ambitious.  Maybe I’m too hasty, maybe I’m giving postgrad life too much credit.  Maybe I’m chasing too much, but the thought of sacrificing my reading or my writing to be able to throw a few more lbs on the weight bar is unacceptable.  As is gaining lbs because all I’ve been doing outside of work is rotting in bed or on the couch devouring every book I can get my hands on.  I want the best of all the worlds.  I want to be well read, well written, healthy, budgeted, and accomplished all in less than 12 hours time each day.  The current cycle of monotonous menial labor at work coupled with pitiful attempts to beat back a trait of laziness cannot continue, it’s driving me crazy.  If I celebrate my one year anniversary of postgrad with nothing to show, I may as well reenroll in college, because at least there I was worth something.

Posted in Me

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