Day Fifty-Eight: Why Am I Doing This?

For fifty-eight days, I have been sitting down at a computer and writing. I write about life, I write about moving, cooking, dogs, people, and things that annoy me. For fifty-eight days, I've chronicled my thoughts habitually. For fifty-eight days, I've formed words into sentences, and sentences into roughly-hewn paragraphs. And I can't for the life of me remember why I started writing everyday.

I know I didn't want to bore myself, and that I felt like I needed to use the talents God gave me rather than let them sit in my brain and do nothing while I aged and got old and too busy to do it anymore. But really, now I realize that it doesn't really make a difference. If I like it, I should do it, and if I don't, then why does it matter? Luckily, I like it. I like sitting down to write everyday, assuming I can think of something to write about. Most of the time, unfortunately, I can't think of anything decent to write about, but I usually come up with something somewhat decent and put something together. My first few posts were a much higher caliber of writing than a lot of what I have been writing lately -- more descriptive, less introspective, and more creative with a larger range of vocabulary. But it occurred to me this evening that I have been writing so habitually that I don't even think about why I do it anymore: because I like it.

I make myself write everyday because I'm lazy, and given the opportunity I will many times lay on the couch and watch Food Network over doing just about any kind of personally enriching creative activity. And I think in that regard, I'm doing the right thing. But I have to be doing it for the right reason, too. And thankfully, I think I am.

It reminds me on a regular basis why I chose to go to college for writing, and why at one point I wanted to make it my career. Because I love it, and it comes fairly naturally to me. So I'll keep doing it, because I need a kick in the ass. And maybe at some point, I'll strengthen my weakness of being absolutely terrible at coming up with decent conclusions to things I write about.

Day Twenty-Five: What's That? I'm Bleeding From the Eyeballs? Oh No, I'm Fine, Really...

I woke up this morning at 2 A.M. unable to breathe through a snotty, stuffy film that sealed thousands of germs inside my head. As I laid there staring at the inside of my eyelids and concentrating on my labored nose-wheezing, I tried not to think about getting up for work in four hours. So when my Ipod tinkled happily that 6:15 had arrived, I angrily pulled myself out of bed and contemplated the possibilities: go in, try to get through the day, and leave if I had to. After all, I had to go in early all this week to prepare for guests that arrived before office hours. So I popped a thermometer in my mouth for the hell of it (95.5...so my thermometer is broken. That's definitely bordering hypothermia.), pulled myself through the shower, ate a tasteless bowl of cereal, scraped off my car, and drove drowsily to work. After setting my car's internal temperature to a cozy ninety degrees, I felt just warm enough.

After I arrived at work and completed my early-morning activities, it was just about 8:30 when people began to arrive. When my co-worker saw me, she told me to go home. I didn't put up much of a fight. I called my boss, collected my purse and my box of tissues, and drove home. I pulled on my pink pajama pants and a hoodie and buried myself in bed until 11:30. Now, after being fed and medicated, I'm somewhat energetic, and bored. It's now that I'm pondering the fact that I am either slightly ADD, or becoming a workaholic. And I'm kind of a bad patient.

When I'm sick, I'll be happy to fill my person with as much medication as I can to make myself feel better without endangering my health further. I try with earnest to drink water all day, but I usually forget or can't be bothered about three glasses in and six trips to the bathroom. But worst of all, I get bored, and I get bored quickly. If I lay on the couch in front of the TV, or sleep on and off throughout the day, I feel worse. But the more I lay around, the faster I get better. But I can't sit still without feeling guilty, or like I'm wasting time, unless I'm really upset, or sometimes if I'm with someone else. And honestly, I act similarly on weekends. I hate laying around, and I hate sitting still for too long. So either this is a good thing that I like to seize the day, or it's terrible that I don't know how to shut myself off. My brain goes from the moment I wake up in the morning and doesn't turn off until I'm asleep. I'm always thinking about five different things at once, and I frequently start walking somewhere, think about something else, and either forget why I'm there, or start walking in the complete wrong direction. I clearly need to center myself and do yoga, or something. There's got to be something somewhat wrong with this.