Lately, I am compelled to become....efficient. Hey, I never said I actually accomplished "efficiency." My goals have become tethered to work and it has consumed my life. Is this terrible? I used to think this would automatically render me some shell person without a soul. But somehow, I find comfort in it. Is this bad? Why do I feel the need to question these stages every step of the way? I felt a lot differently five years ago when I aspired to be a teacher or a historian or a writer or...an archaeologist. Or. Something. I just never found a calling that I could decide on. And after all this time, I have not broken the "this or that" - the "or" paradigm. How disappointing. I should just let go and become a Renaissance woman and hold the Faire please.
Funny when I let the thoughts just translate through my fingers I question myself every five seconds. It's a habit of which I thought I was aware. Apparently not. Anthony just said my writing style makes me sound like a "pompous ass." That's too bad, considering "pompous" implies an overinflated sense of self and ability. Then again, this is usually overcompensation. So. There you go. Or I go since I write to gather my thoughts which currently, float strewn across my brain into something less cohesive than quicksand.
It feels like quicksand sometime which is sad because I feel that I've taken a backtracking path away from some unambiguous but all-important goal. But again, my theory is life runs in spirals. I have all these cerebral constructs I use to bar myself from development. Damn.
I think I'm going to stop now because my stomach hurts. That was easy.