Waiting

I often spend time in between mental battles. And the joysticks are not in my hands, so it’s not very rejoicing. By the time, I am finished memorizing the description of the character I see fighting like a sight from the ancient battles for possession of great kingdoms. The size of my ego cannot actually be handled by my own ego, while always wanting to sleep. I feel too tired to play.

I love food and I eat to be distracted. I feel I have no purpose because what is anything worth. Small tasks feel like a challenge and I’m not enjoying this life at the expense of others.

I guess I had to write about my observations but that’s how I begin it, I suppose. It’s windy but not too cold here and there’s colloquial chatter in the background. When I was a kid, I imagined I would wake up perplexed on a beach like Sindbad, or encounter a cobra in my bathroom like Jim Corbett to bring me back to my fight mode. But I feel like dead meat.

My anxiety keeps me on the toes, always distracted and compelling me to try out something different, something new, but also something comfortable. But the same anxiety distracts me from taking my first step towards changing what is causing the anxiety.

I wait, and I’m still waiting for that perfect motivation to bust my lazy ass. My anxiety says it will be bad and I must learn how to be of better use that just sit around than feel miserable about existing or should I?

This is my dilemma. I have no ambition of great life but only desires, multiple desires in which my energies are fragmented and my brain is dead. God is dead.

Featured image by cottonbro from Pexels

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