No Talent Ass Clown

I haven't been able to get motivated. For dinner we went to Chipotle and wandered around Borders. I've stopped carrying my credit cards, for better or worse, to limit temptation. But really it just makes me feel poorer than usual. My new glasses came in on Friday, so at least now I have a visual reminder of where my money went.

I'm in a mood. I don't want to do anything. I don't want to walk. I don't want to play any more games or watch any more bad television. I went to the library and checked out Christopher Moore's "Practical Demonkeeping" and that held my attention for an hour or so. It's not that I'm bored exactly. I'm aimless. Unfocused. I let the cat scratch me when we played, so now there are long red scratches on my arms and legs. I'm trying all the usual motivational techniques -- loud music, caffeine, alcohol, big ass burritos, video games ... I've even admitted I've got a problem! But alas, this day is shot and/or defective. I wish I'd kept the receipt.

Last night BF and I went to the beach and spent an hour walking up and down the shore. It was high tide and I waded, ankle deep, out in the water. I felt the sand dissolve between my toes, and the surf swirl around my feet, sometimes up above my knees.

I guess I feel like my life is on hold and I'm not doing enough to fix it. It's entirely my fault. And time is running out. I know what I want, right? Why don't I formulate a plan? Why don't I make a timeline? That voice in your head which tells you what you're doing wrong all the time, do you know it? Mine is entirely too developed. It knows everything I'm doing wrong and it's categorizing it for later. For the unauthorized biography. But really, that voice is a coward. It sits and watches everything from above but it never gets its hands dirty. It says it's got to stay objective, but I think it's a stupid bully no-talent ass clown of a critic. All talk no action. That's my personal floating critic.