That fucking horse

Get back on that fucking horse! I don’t know or care what oasis you thought you saw, but your chariot awaits and is growing impatient.

I consider myself to be a deeply lazy person. Now whether or not that is true all depends on your conception of ‘hard work’(or ‘work’ at all, really), and its relationship to time; also referred to as the ever elusive “productivity”. I define productivity as a sufficient work-to-time ratio, I implore disagreement and discussion to the detriment of your ‘productivity’. A word toward which I have growing contempt.

It may paradoxically behoove me to hold such a belief about myself only because if I were not to, I would perhaps be dumbfounded as to why completeness is foreign to me. But since I don’t, I know quite well why something is incomplete: I am being lazy and completing a task requires the opposite of me. Hence, the horse!

Nonetheless, I have been off the horse of writing and regular meditation for a number of weeks and I say to myself no more… with brimstone rage even! GET BACK ON THAT FUCKING HORSE! I’ve all but completely lost patience with my lethargic tendancies. (most) Drugs are bad (probably) and Caffeine was gone, but now is back until I can prove to myself once more that I am mature enough to ride without it. Damn myself.

To the horse you go, bastard!