Daily Splatter: Blunt End
I'm simply exhausted. Demands at work have ballooned recently, and every indication is that they will continue to swell. I'm traveling more, eating crappier, sleeping less and growing increasingly anxious. As a result, I have this weird floating feeling like a car that just sped off a cliff - the flight is exhilarating, but I've got a sneaking suspicion that the landing is going to be a little rough.
At times such as this, my creative ideas all seem like turds swirling in a commode of self-loathing. All I want to do is seek distraction. Unfortunately, ten channels of HBO and my iPod are all too eager to accommodate.
When this happens, instead of attempting to manage my time better, take my job less seriously or any number of other rational solutions, I just contemplate cutting shit entirely out of my life. It is kind of like treating a cold by having your sinuses removed. I want to alleviate the anxiety immediately at any cost.
One consideration I've had this week was to end this blog. While at times I enjoy nothing more than writing these stupid, self-indulgent posts, at other times it is a voracious monster that must be fed.
Eventually, though, I realize that I am acting like a bitch and that annoyed little voice inside pipes up. "Aw, poor little you with your white collar career, lovely wife, spacious home, and luscious buttocks. Quit being a knob polisher and grab a helmet, Nancy."
I guess at some level it supports my theory that too much analysis often leads to an inflated sense of the significance of one's self. What could be more boring than that? (For example, see above).
Anyway, writing this helps and I need to remember that. This and the prospect of pancakes tomorrow morning should fix me right up.
At times such as this, my creative ideas all seem like turds swirling in a commode of self-loathing. All I want to do is seek distraction. Unfortunately, ten channels of HBO and my iPod are all too eager to accommodate.
When this happens, instead of attempting to manage my time better, take my job less seriously or any number of other rational solutions, I just contemplate cutting shit entirely out of my life. It is kind of like treating a cold by having your sinuses removed. I want to alleviate the anxiety immediately at any cost.
One consideration I've had this week was to end this blog. While at times I enjoy nothing more than writing these stupid, self-indulgent posts, at other times it is a voracious monster that must be fed.
Eventually, though, I realize that I am acting like a bitch and that annoyed little voice inside pipes up. "Aw, poor little you with your white collar career, lovely wife, spacious home, and luscious buttocks. Quit being a knob polisher and grab a helmet, Nancy."
I guess at some level it supports my theory that too much analysis often leads to an inflated sense of the significance of one's self. What could be more boring than that? (For example, see above).
Anyway, writing this helps and I need to remember that. This and the prospect of pancakes tomorrow morning should fix me right up.