Stubborn, I have become, these days. This attitude is something that defies my entire existence, or whatever it is, for I have not known myself to be stubborn ever. Perhaps it is the result of middle age– that menace, slowly sneaking up on me, and the resultant repercussions. Or perhaps it is just me, changing, or adjusting, or deteriorating, like we’re all supposed to but hope never to.

Change, as someone wise once said, is the only inevitable force we have to deal with in life—nothing else comes even close. I want to change; I do not want to change. It is this constant contradiction I face that almost defines my whole life. It is natural to develop insecurity when I  notice the urgency with which time is strolling towards the end of my stay on this planet. That continuous voice at the back of my head, that my chances to ever be able to achieve anything worthwhile are becoming dimmer and dimmer with each passing minute.

I stop for a moment, remind myself of all the joys that life has bestowed upon me, but it is not enough, it’s never enough. This loss of faith in oneself and one’s own abilities, this complete downtrodden feeling, this constant torture in one’s self-created hell and to wrestle with it on a daily basis must be enough to crack anyone.

The sudden realization that perhaps, this is it. Perhaps, I was born to do the mundane, perhaps I was destined to be one of the many who’d be lost in the crowd. I have never been satisfied with my life and it is a curse. I have always wanted more. What? I don’t know— a definite curse. But what if in the anticipation of more I have left myself incapable of enjoying what I already have at the moment? What if this is exactly who I am supposed to be? What if…? A number of what if’s actually.

I seriously do not know how to end this post. And perhaps tomorrow, I’d even curse myself for writing and posting it. But I’ll let tomorrow take care of that. I have work that needs to be done, deadlines to be met, procrastination that needs to be dodged, yet again. I am just tired of this constant phase of dreaming… and trying to work… and procrastinating, and trying to work. And not wanting to do it, but still doing it. And wanting to do it, but not knowing exactly what. Devastating.

And it is such a tough job, dealing with this illogicality, on a daily basis— such a bloody difficult job.

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