Tomorrow morning it’s going to be cold. It’s going to be quite cold. Not as cold as it could be, but cold enough for me to be comfortable whinging about it. But I’ll be fine. I’ll persevere.

Tomorrow morning I’m back on the bike. Been off it more over the past month than I have on, but I have plans so I need to get back on, despite how tired I’ll feel in the morning. Might not feel tired at all. Might get the rest I need. Yet to find out. Don’t know if I want to find out, really. Just rather know. But you can’t win them all.

Right now I’m relaxing and I’m trying to work out how I can spin many words into a few sentences, but with the kind of constraint I’ve got on myself (and my wanting to get this bit of writing done before the end of the playlist) puts me in a state where I must both succeed and fail at that task. Or something.

I think I’ve got to spend more time writing. I think that. I think I’m already running out of things to say and write. Tomorrow will be another day, as they say, but I know that today is forever, or something.

Or something.

Where am I going with my life? What am I doing? Am I really happy? I want to write silly and all I write is serious. I’ve lost my spark. I’ve lost my touch. Tomorrow is another day, however, and tomorrow is another attempt to succeed where I have previously failed. And I’ll fail, and I’ll fail again, and then I’ll fail some more, but eventually I will succeed. Eventually.

I wonder what I’m doing. I wonder why I’m sitting here, typing away when I could be folding clothes. When I could be getting ready for being on the bike tomorrow morning. I need to do that. I need to get ready. I need to prepare for the ride ahead. If I can get out of the house at a certain time, I can ride all the way.

My goals seem so far away. It feels like they’re not going to come to fruition, and maybe I’ve set them so far in the future so as to be able to keep moving them down the road. Maybe to be able to let myself fail, so I don’t have to actually achieve them. I don;t know. I don’t know for certain. I’d like to know, I guess, but I don’t. But I think that that might be the case right now. I’m not scrounging. I’m not knuckling down. I’m doing whatever I want. That can be a good thing and that can be a bad thing, and I think right now that that’s a bad thing.

Well, I’m doing whatever I can within a limited amount of money, but you know.

I think I’m afraid, in a way. I think I’m afraid of succeeding in some fashion, of realising things to a fuller potential. I think I’m afraid of getting what I want and what I desire, and maybe I am. Maybe I am afraid. Maybe I don’t want to succeed in any way. Who am I to say?

I have to wonder, of course, as to how much of this line of thought is worth entertaining. Success is not something to be afraid of, but working out if one is afraid of it is is probably worth thinking about. Probably. I don’t know. Maybe it’s not at all. Maybe I need to give myself a tough love talk, or something. But there are things I want and I’m intentionally allowing myself to wait a while before I get to them. I’m intentionally allowing myself a lot of room to screw things up or redirect, and I can’t say for sure that this is a good way to be about stuff.

That being said, I have to admit that my situation sort of demands that things I want to achieve are far away. It also doesn’t mean I can’t have goals that can be achieved sooner, either. But it still feels like I’m intentionally trying to defeat myself.

Sometimes I wonder if I’ll be writing less about myself sooner rather than later. I’m so very tired of it and I keep doing it. Of course the obvious answers is to tell myself to just stop, which is great and all, but right now I can’t. Right now I can’t stop writing about myself, but I am so very tired of doing so. There are other things I want to cover. There are other things I want to get on with, but I feel firmly entrenched, and I don’t feel as though this is going to end. But it does. It always does and one always comes out better off in the end… or at least, that’s the hope. Not always the case.

I thought I’d try and write about whatever before I go to sleep. Didn’t quite happen. But I’m feeling better after this morning, and I hope that means I’ll be good to go tomorrow. Don’t know if I will be, but I do know it’s going to be a cold morning and I’ll likely be cycling through it. Will have to force myself out of bed, but I can do it and I have to do it. I’ve a lot of time before some things are going to come to fruition and I have to make the time between count. If I don’t, then I’m going to get to when things need to happen without much in the way of things to show preparation, and those things will fall through. Maybe I do want to self-sabotage and push things down the road, but at least I also know that I don’t want to. I know that I do want to see my goals come to fruition, and I know that, with perseverance, they will.

The time it took to write one thousand words: 13:46:82

Didn’t feel like a struggle to write which is great. Do wish it was about something more silly, however.

Written at home.