I am ready to explode. My pent-up ambition is going nowhere. It heightens my anxiety that I have exhausted all devices by which to put off the reckoning.
My needs are ostensibly few. Indeed my needs have never been fewer. While this is fortunate it oddly depletes my resolve. All my life I have responded to need, sometimes admittedly of my own creation. The possibility of being animated by other than need is therefore foreign to me. I am a workhorse by nature, happiest in my yoke.
Perhaps I must redefine need. It occurs to me for example that I should read more. That at least has the air of civilized industry. Maybe my problem is that I only respond to need rather than behave proactively (though I haven’t a plan to save the world). Certainly a change of tact is evocative if for no other reason than novelty.
Or has the time come to relish indolent seclusion? The allure of passivity persists. I am rationalizing it as a challenge, fortified for example by the adage that “There is nothing harder to do than nothing” and supplemented by the fiction that I am training myself to observe. For the time being however these philosophical renditions afford little if any modification. In the result I am immobilized.
How happy I would have been to retire to my book and my bottle! But such is not to be. Instead I must confront my sober dilemma. I have never been diverted by television or theatre. Mere travel for the sake of it is not within my scope. Meanwhile I have nothing better to do than my morning bicycle ride (I can’t even sit on a beach without going for a swim) and to prepare for lunch.
The weight of my concern nonetheless commands me to reflect further. Through practice of implementation I have learned to trust my instincts. I must allow myself at least a year before jumping ship. I shall wait.