Apply Myself

I think that I'm afraid. I've asked myself the question, "What do you want?" and all I know is that I don't want to answer. I want everything to freeze. I want marvelous things to happen, but I don't want to do any work -- which explains my anger in the earlier entry. A part of me is growing that wants to sit back and let life happen, let the moon rise, and the earth spin, and the wind chimes knock against one another and just sit there. Drop out. Not fight.

I stopped writing months ago. I quit working out. And I can't seem to summon the motivation to start again. I don't see the point.

What do I want? Who the fuck knows? I want to be selfish, I guess. I want to stare at the cobwebs on the white, white walls and listen to the neighbors slam their trash can lids around and feel the breeze on my shoulders. I want to hide, hole up in some mid-range hotel and order in. As for the rest of it, I don't have an answer.

Except maybe I'd like to ask that yapping dog to please shut the fuck up.