The monkey on my back is not a monkey at all. It is a giant gelatinous slug who latches onto my spine. Its weight slowly brings me to my knees leaving me to crawl pathetically through the rest of my day. This slimy leech finds me easily with its hawkish eyes and keen senses, greedy for its daily meal. Not one hour passes that I do not feel its presence, its stench of failure and regret wafting into my nostrils. Oh, how I loathe this monkey that is not a monkey, this slug that has hitched a ride and will not leave me be.
Do I merely learn to live with this beast? Tolerate its constant drain on my mind, body and soul? Or do I front an attack? Do I fling it from my shoulders and stomp it into the ground until nothing remains beyond a sticky puddle of gooish muck? I fear I do not have the strength of mind for such a feat. Its suckers have penetrated too far, its grip on my haunches is too strong. I am left sapped of willpower and devoid of motivation. It has taken ahold of me.
Feeding, it reeks of lost possibilities- possibilities of greatness or plainness, it does not matter, they were possibilities. And now, they are gone. Am I alone possessed by this affliction? Surely, there are others who are also bearing this weight? Have any learned to cast their burden off? Perhaps not. For I have heard of none like me.
Each day, like the last, starts with promise only to be quickly stripped away as the lecherous monstrosity devours the heady plans I once imagined. What lofty goals I weaved for that day, as I slept peacefully only hours ago. These are quickly gobbled up and soon it becomes enough to just tread through the day, barely aware, caring only enough to maintain the status quo. Napping becomes the new dream. When sleep is the only reprieve you begin to crave it above all else. How lovely it would be to just close my eyes now, to just rest my head on my arm and escape for even a few blissful minutes. Life’s responsibilities inevitably barricade me from this simple dream, smashing it on the rocks of adulthood and duty.
And so I go on. One heavy footfall after another. My parasitic load happily perched on my back, I trod on. Perhaps this is my fate. Perhaps this is my plight for all of my days.
But perhaps not.
Perhaps, one day, I will find the strength to stop listening to its destructive message of excuses and instead- I do something. Perhaps I will finally rise from the ashes of the wasted opportunities I have cast aside at its demand and take back the reins of my life.
The Not So Fantastic Reality:
The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:
ONE: I AM SO LAZY. I mean really, really lazy. This is where I name a dozen excuses of why I am, in fact, lazy, but to save time (see even lazy about writing about being lazy!) I’ll keep it short by saying the one basic fact about me- I AM LAZY. I suppose it is a character flaw. Perhaps I am an overachiever trapped in an underachiever’s body. Whatever the case, the result is the same… I get nothing done. At least that’s how I feel most days. Let’s take a look at today, for example. The alarm goes off- I sleep for another hour. At work I sit at a desk for 9 hours (including my lunch which is usually perched in my desk chair) and come up with excuses on why I’m not at least walking around campus to get some exercise, i.e. I can’t walk in these shoes, it’s too hot out, I’ll get all sweaty, I don’t want to be bothered by students, etc. Home after work- I usually sit on the couch, sometimes nap and then wonder why I have no ideas on what to write about. Sigh. The story above is an exaggerated monologue on how I feel about this ‘condition’ at times. Think of it as a journal entry from an extremely emo kind of dude who can’t get off his ass. I’ll do better tomorrow. ;o)
Love & Squirrels.