These last few weeks at work have been mostly about looking busy while really "successfully pissing the day away", as my co-worker put it. This does make me feel some guilt and some paranoia that 'they're' going to catch on to me and fire my ass sooner than later, but I can't seem to care. I can't seem to muster up the strength to get to work on time, to be proactive at my desk, to give a shit about making money for other people. Sure, sure, we're doing good. We help surgical patients by helping surgeons, ya ya ya, I know.
All I can think about with regularity are sex, writing, and my new diet (which isn't really a diet so much as trying to integrate exercise and balance into my every day life). I have so much writing out there, and I spend more than a few hours a week doing it for free, probably making other people money in the process. This shit is starting to make me itch. It's stupid. I'm broke, can't pay the bills every month, and yet I'm giving several of my assets away for free.
I don't know where the button to make me work harder after hours is. I struggle between wanting to go home and write and look for ways to make myself some money, but I also want to go out and find people to meet and have sex with (or go on the 'net and find people...). A little fear is growing in my belly that this complete lack of interest in the job I have that's helping keep me housed is going to really bite me in the ass and cause misery. A bigger fear is growing in that same belly of mine that this complete lack of motivation (and unwillingness to sleep only 3 hours a night) is going to continue until all of the sudden I realize, at age 45 or something, the following:
Now that's terror.