Sometimes I think about what I’ve done – leaving work, leaving stability, leaving security – and I want to vomit. An overwhelming feeling floods my body and I feel sick and uncertain.
And I think that’s largely due to the fact that I’m bored. It’s boredom. I have a lot of things to do, but because I don’t have the overzealous schedule of doom that made me so ambitiously driven to complete my tasks well before deadlines is gone, its lead me down the deep, dark, tunnel of procrastination. I procrastinate and not lightly. I’ve got a paper due next week, and one of Dr. Palmer’s notoriously aggressive tests, and well – I’ve not done anything for either of them. I need to study for that test, and I damn sure need to spend a lot of time on this research paper that I simply haven’t done yet.
What the hell is wrong with me? The boredom is leading to depression. The boredom is leading to sadness. The boredom is consuming me, and quite frankly I don’t have a way to dig myself back out. I feel like I’m floating in a tank of blank pieces of paper with random, floating letters and words bouncing about my face in a zero gravity tank. And I can’t grab anything around me.
I think I’m thriving for an adventure. I need something. I need to have a day where I just…have an adventure. Something to do. Something to find. Something to make the monotony go away. What is monotonous after all? I’m free. In a sense.
Yet, I feel alone. Awkwardly alone.