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elfsI’ve been feeling horribly unproductive recently. It’s this feeling I get every time I look up at the clock and realize the entire day has gone by and I’ve managed to keep up with the requirements of my job, but that’s about it.
There’s a mantra going around that says, “But you shouldn’t have to be productive! We’re in the middle of a minor revolution, a world-encompassing plague, and the real and present danger of climate change rendering our planet uninhabitable. That’s more than any spirit can bear.”
Maybe so. But if you’re not producing, you’re just consuming. Or existing. With the pandemic in full swing and the United States apparently deciding “Fuck it, let the second wave come without mitigation and we’ll take our chances,” it’s hard to consider the risks of going out and visiting friends, so we can’t even be comforting or companionable at this time. Even going to the protests feels dangerous, even though they do seem to be mostly masked, but there you can’t stay six feet apart from everyone.
And I hate just being a consumer. When I was in my 20s I wrote 5000 words a week and now I’m lucky if I manage 1000. I also wrote a ton of software in my 30s and now I’m too discombobulated to do even that. My attention span is completely shot even with the meds. But overall, those are all just excuses.
I’m in a downward spiral of self-loathing as I spend useless hours watching the world burn. I’ve done what I can, but even as an ordinary old white guy I don’t have much to say other than to get out of the way and let the youngsters do their thing and try to save their world. But I don’t want to just sit here, slowly liquifying and turning into jelly. I have more inside me… I just wish I knew how to access it and turn it into words for the rest of the world to see.
There’s a mantra going around that says, “But you shouldn’t have to be productive! We’re in the middle of a minor revolution, a world-encompassing plague, and the real and present danger of climate change rendering our planet uninhabitable. That’s more than any spirit can bear.”
Maybe so. But if you’re not producing, you’re just consuming. Or existing. With the pandemic in full swing and the United States apparently deciding “Fuck it, let the second wave come without mitigation and we’ll take our chances,” it’s hard to consider the risks of going out and visiting friends, so we can’t even be comforting or companionable at this time. Even going to the protests feels dangerous, even though they do seem to be mostly masked, but there you can’t stay six feet apart from everyone.
And I hate just being a consumer. When I was in my 20s I wrote 5000 words a week and now I’m lucky if I manage 1000. I also wrote a ton of software in my 30s and now I’m too discombobulated to do even that. My attention span is completely shot even with the meds. But overall, those are all just excuses.
I’m in a downward spiral of self-loathing as I spend useless hours watching the world burn. I’ve done what I can, but even as an ordinary old white guy I don’t have much to say other than to get out of the way and let the youngsters do their thing and try to save their world. But I don’t want to just sit here, slowly liquifying and turning into jelly. I have more inside me… I just wish I knew how to access it and turn it into words for the rest of the world to see.
