pressure cooker

i can never tell whether i am utterly lacking in self-discipline or if my internal taskmaster is so omnipresent, unrelentingly harsh, so unforgiving if i depart from what i expect of me, i must be a complete slacker. and that is the kind word for it.

maybe only a slacker would think that everything requires discipline. there’s job work, of course, but then there’s diet, exercise, piano practice, writing this sentence, calling my sister, washing dishes, picking things up, putting things down, getting from point A to point B, calling my mother, laundry, preparing for job interviews, figuring out what to wear for when, ¬†meditation, stretching, answering texts and emails, not forgetting to pay bills before collection agencies start calling me, remembering to sleep, take medications. it all feels like work and discipline. it doesn’t feel organic.

the only way to accomplish anything is to create a pressure cooker for oneself to live. but it’s a not a place i would recommend as a place to live for anyone. and it does not make me a better citizen of the earth.

there has to be another way.

About The Lost Pedestrian

In my wanderings throughout the moments/days/years, I try in earnest to find the mystical within the mundane and the mundane within the mystical, oftentimes confusing one from the other. I have wandered and roamed through many a city, many a town, in a state of wonder and bewilderment, without necessarily going anywhere. I am easily lost, but eventually found. (I am guessing you have just found me). My sincere hope is that you will find Something in this warehouse of thought, memory and false memory, words, numbers, tangents, murmurs, echoes (lots and lots of echoes), voices, dreams, and other paraphernalia.
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