Sometimes I think I'm better at writing my amateurish prose-poetry than I am at acquiring results with these homemade dissections.
Some nights-- weeks-- writing in here particularly frustrating for me, because it's so cyclical. I know I've written these things down before. How many times now, I wonder? How many other entries bear a striking similarity to this one? To ones a year ago? Two? Eight?
Sometimes I think that writing here, in my journal, about myself, is sort of like trying fish a specific, colored marble out of a barrel, blind. Like many other things, it's just a numbers game. I just have to keep trying different permutations over and over (and sometimes the same one more than once) until I hit on something more than a throwaway theory.
And every once in a while, something either galvanizes me to change (I.E: Katie, trauma) or I manage to land on something so epiphanic that I fixate on it for a period of time long enough to enact results.
I've attacked similar topics many times, but wonder what.... what is the thing that causes me to change into the thing I want to be?
Dissatisfaction is only the initial catalyst. There has to be something more, though. Something that tempers that internal irritation, and turns it into hardened resolve. Like my exercise. Or writing here.
Hah. I scrolled up briefly and read what I wrote. I don't know if I can honestly say I attack certain topics more than they attack me. Ambuscade from 7 sides.
You know. It's really rather possible (even likely?) that I don't know myself as well as I would like. If I can't ... extract from my own brain the why's and wherefore's of how I establish routine, there might be a significant problem, there.
Well. Not a "problem", per se. More of an inconvenience. But it certainly doesn't reinforce my value-system very well, not knowing how to rewire my own neuroplasticity with any consistency.
I dunno. Is it just a "breaking point" of unhappiness that prompts me?
Is it like a lunatic loop? Like the phases of the moon? My motivation waxing and waning, and only every once in a while culminating in "enough" to make me want to do something about it?
Hrmph.
I know if I let myself, I'll write approximately 10 times as much as I need to in order to express the really relevant shit. So maybe I should just put that to bed, right now.
....
You know. I was thinking about this earlier today. While I was staring at my backyard.
I oftentimes just wish I had Katie back. And I know I lament that a lot. But she was a suture that kept a constantly-hemorrhaging wound sewn closed. I was happier with her in my life. Things just made more sense. And it was... easier to compartmentalize and carry-out my life.
I know that saying that is slightly shameful and selfish, because she was in a black and lonely place, asymmetrical to the one I just described. Or maybe... inversely symmetrical. And wishing for that back... I can't just wish for that without plunging her back into that place. And it makes me feel guilty when I reconcile those things.
But it's the truth, still.
She raised the quality of my life. Made me happy. Well, happiER.
And not to diminish the growth and learning that I've experienced in my loss of her, because I'm not sure that I would trade this away, either. I feel a better man, for it.
But. I dunno.
It was easy to just be with her.
And perhaps.... that's the problem.
It's easy to just be. And my mind too easily makes excuses for me to just .... continue to just be.
I have to defeat my own minds' assessment of the situation (of myself)-- on several fronts-- before I can really internalize the need for change. And my adaptive unconscious is too strong. It too easily slaves me.
....
I think I've had enough.
I'm going to put the scalpel away for a while, and hide this all away.
And maybe sort of bounce it around in the back of my mind.
....
I'm tired.
11:16 p.m. - 2014-09-25
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