Just picking up a book seems like a chore nowadays. It is too fucking tedious. I want to do it. But my hands seem to have a different opinion. So does my mind. Tomorrow, it says. Tomorrow, I swear. And somehow I manage to get through the day without accomplishing anything.
Out of the blue a cold feeling of how I am losing time comes through. Like a wave washing over your body. And I still stand there. Waiting for sun to come up and dry my body when I could just use a towel.
Procrastination has become a ritual. And lazy is the new circuit training I aim to finish. A darkness ahead and I can’t walk through towards the light.