Productivity must be a mental muscle, one that I am failing to exercise…because it’s becoming more difficult to get going lately. Unless I have a firm appointment or commitment, I just lay here in the bed and stare at the ceiling. It’s really very ridiculous. There are things that could be done. Heck, this very second I see a pile of clothes that could be sorted, dishes that could be put away, a book I might find interesting, and a package that must be sent.
But that’s all I’m doing. Watching it all. There is an expression about boredom. Something about it being a luxury of those who are spoiled. Well I don’t know about that. Feels more like a curse in some sense. Sometimes it’s a luxury after a hard day. Right now it’s like a heavy blanket I can’t push off. And it’s not the same as rest.
Mind you, it might have more to do with mood, apathy, or something, rather than boredom. Maybe it’s not about being purposeless…just instead…stuck in myself. I keep thinking “you are wasting the days when you feel well! How many will you get, and how many will you regret?” But even that gets me no where.
Just writing this is probably enough; a tiny little flex in that mental muscle.