[sometimes, everything doesn’t seem as wrong]
Will you bear with me if I promise to change?
Just after midnight I found myself laughing manically at my window, a bottle of Whisky slowly but dedicatedly upsetting my stomach, and I understood. I thought how ridiculous it is that we celebrate this instance, this tiny farty instance of the Earth going round the Sun. As if anything would change by that. As if anything had ever changed, except for people’s age. Winter with it’s darkness always hits me pretty hard, I feel sick for weeks, I crawl into my bed and hope for the weeks to pass, for warmth to return, for my feelings of uselessness to be over soon.
I’ve long grown out of New Year resolutions. I have, for the most part, accepted that the push a new calendar provides to some doesn’t pull me. That does of course not mean that I don’t think about such goals, I just accept that I won’t achieve any of them before I feel any progress.
Usually the first thing that pops to mind, especially since every January 1st welcomes me with a bucket next to my bed and me hugging it tenderly, that it might be time to quit drinking. I never really succeed at this. At the same time I don’t really think that I have a problem with alcohol, it’s just, when I drink it, I often don’t seem to know when to stop. And especially the solstice festivities from Christmas to New Year’s either find me in a reoccurring state of depression, or maybe, the other way round, they depress me to the point where I feel that drinking provides, if not a solution, then a great intoxicant. Only that I can’t really say that anything good ever came out of me consuming alcohol. Especially in great amounts.
It’s also a social thing, I think. I don’t really like being the odd one out, and the culture I inhabit is heavy on the booze, for many reasons beyond my comprehension or caring. Even if I’m sure I don’t wanna drink anymore, at one point I find myself in a situation where it seems a sensible thing to do, mostly because I don’t really care about it. “It doesn’t hurt enough” (Palmer, 2014), or something.
I have been rumbling and ranting about my weight for quite some time, so that’s something I’ll try and tackle. Today I already started with a nice session on my stationary bike, that works fine when playing Pixel Dungeon or when reading. This is something that does actually matter to me, so maybe I can fuel up the stamina to fit into some of my old pants sooner than later. That’d be nice.
Then there’s my productivity issue, that is, I don’t feel productive enough. Especially since 2015 is the year where I finally wanna make some progress on where I feel like I stood still for the last couple of months. Should I tell you to expect things to happen? Why bother. I always feel I should talk less and do more. I’ve never been much of a doer.
Often when I push myself into situations where things evolve that make me do more and more things, I usually feel swamped by the emerging responsibilities pretty soon and then let things drop to ease the burden. Maybe I should try to have a hamster survive under my care before I try caring about my life. It didn’t end so well with my last hamster.
I need the instant gratification “real” endeavors don’t usually provide. That’s why I’m good at short stories, and haven’t finished my first novel half a decade now. Because I always need my upvotes, my likes, my applause. I thrive on the appreciation of others. But I have yet to turn this into a sustainable life. Maybe 2015’s the year for that.
Will you bear with me?