Sunday, December 30, 2007

I'm not dead yet...but I will be one day.

I'm not sure entirely why, but I had a moment this morning, lying in bed, sometime around noon, where I thought, "Fuck, I'm almost 35, which is way to close to 40, which is way to close to the middle ground of a life that's gone almost nowhere and with which I've done almost nothing."

That made me a little bit sad. And, for just a few minutes, a little bit paranoid as well. I have real difficulty with the thought of retiring this life for the great beyond without having accomplished anything of any particular significance. I mean, I know, logically, that I probably won't -- most people don't -- but that doesn't make the thought of it any easier.

Nor does it make the thought that the only reason I haven't gotten closer to that accomplishment is because I tend to sit around on my ass not making progress towards accomplishments. Essentially, I have no one to blame but myself.

And that pisses me off. But then the only person I can really get pissed off at is me, so that just gets me stuck in a stupid little cycle that never goes anywhere either.

I don't make new year's resolutions anymore. I used to, but just like most people, I have a hard time following through with this resolutions, regardless of how good an idea they might be. And then I feel like a failure and I hate myself.

But if I did make new year's resolutions, right at the moment I would probably resolve something that was connected to this desire I have to do something significant. I would probably resolve to write more often. That one's a pretty good bet. It was something I intended to do for the last few months, now that I'm taking some time off theatre, and something that just didn't quite work out. Of course there's no reason not to try again come January 1.

Not that I'm resolving that, or anything.

I'd also probably resolve to get more exercise. Which is to say, get some exercise at all. More exercise would make me feel better, give me more energy, and probably help me with the whole "get your ass off the sofa and get some writing done, you lazy fucker," thing that I've been having trouble with. There's so many good reasons to get more exercise, in fact, that I really can't think of a single reason why I haven't already, or why I shouldn't in the new year.

Not that I'm resolving that. That would be a mistake.

If I was prone to making new year's resolutions, I'd probably also resolve to quit smoking, but I think we all know what a ridiculous notion that is, so that one's not even worth mentioning, even in a fantasy world.

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