Twelve Days In

[6.3.25 | 9:20pm | Tuesday ]

Aside from my acne flaring up, I would say I'm doing ok. It's not like I can complain. Well, I know I can, given the whole 'free will' and all, but can I really, or rather, should I? Acne is beyond my control. I drink water. I can do a regimen (I don't). But I can't consciously decide to remove the inflammation from my face. I can pick at it, yes, of course, but taking it from existence is a power beyond me. For everything else, though—my life, my thoughts, my skills and lack thereof—I've just been sitting [in it], lately. I've dug myself into this limbo, of sorts—it's a misfit middle ground, I'd say, of being dissatisfied and 'bleh,' yet not miserable enough to do anything about it. I feel, because of this, I've relinquished the right to be unhappy. It's literally summer vacation, and I'm getting the break I've been wanting since forever. I have all day to do anything, everything, actually. I can read, I can write—my gosh, I've been meaning to write. I can cook. I can clean. I can lock in with my viola and maybe learn that [region's] music. {P.S.: My bridge was, actually, misaligned... yikes} There's just so much, too much. Yet every day has amounted to nothing. I'm only twelve days in and mentally checked out because, genuinely, why do I do these things to myself? I can't even say I'm burnt out anymore. In school, yeah, sure, I'd say that played a role. But now that I'm 'free,' there is really no excuse; the issue is just me. And to the grand shock of no one, I remain my biggest problem.