Looking at getting my shit back together. I feel like the long weekend needs to come to an end; time to get busy, active, moving forward. I’m not hurting for cash at the moment, but my income will be drying up within two weeks. It’s time to make the grab at real life again.
I’ve sorta enjoyed the past 2 months of floating. It’s nice to go to bed at 4 and wake up at 11. Nice to spend hours at the cafe. Great that I have no place to be at any one particular time. However, it’s the textbook definition of being debased. There’s no ground, no foundation, no roots. I thrive when rooted; it’s why I’m not a homeless traveler, although the romanticism of that idea tempts me. I need something to churn through, some cause, some purpose greater than myself to give me reason to keep going on. When I’m by myself, on my own, the fire inside is gone, and I’m left to chew my own face. If I want to survive my mental health, I need to work.
I think it is less to do with having a job (although income is important), but rather more about being part of something. When I am alone with my projects, I get the fire for, oh, a few days, a few weeks maybe, and then it just burns out because, well, it’s just me, it’s just my own damned project, so why bother? So many of my projects die before they bear fruit, and that is the crux of it. If I had a writing partner, or a group, or if I had a fellow musician to jam with, or if I was on a team of programmers working on a project, then dammit, I think I could achieve something, finish something. So what if I don’t get the pride of having done the whole thing myself? What does that get me other than “eh, that’s cool.”
Time to stand up and walk.