demotivated

i finished my master's degree.
now i have some time on my hands.
what to do, what to do?

my creative ideas know no bounds.

my physical motivation, however, knows many.

i like the saying above - 'my future will be happy and productive' - because i feel it encompasses the kind of waiting i always do when it comes to that which i want to either have or accomplish. waiting for the right day, the right feeling, the right idea, the right circumstance, the right economy, the right accomplice, the right guidance, the right moon phase.

it's an elaborate form of procrastination, i've concluded - meant to take the control (and thus the blame for total inaction) out of my hands. the waiting has become so much a part of my life that i now feel fairly certain i'll be waiting for the most favorable this-or-that until the day i die!

worse, i realize i have legitimately 'inherited' this propensity (and slothfulness, honestly) from my parents, both of whom had great potential and zero confidence, zero motivation, and zero will. two bright people who barely flickered in the dark of their small worlds. i'm their daughter! i'm barely flickering ...

i had hoped this realization and knowledge of the root of my enduring demotivation would somehow spur me to ... action. something!!! no. i'm just as wayward as i ever was. maybe worse, actually, now that i'm so sold on non-obligation. what's the kind of thing that gets a person like me going again?

obligation

possibly the most untenable of all emotional conditions for me is the crush of obligation.

in some cases, i make my own bed, as it were: i invite and seek obligation, in return for some spiritual, intellectual, or monetary reward for the work. we all do this regularly, as fair exchange for our state as social beings. it's the sticky part of cooperative enterprise. that's cool.

but other times, i am writhing beneath obligation that came on like a whip crack, a hard, painful snap against my otherwise laconic reality. i hate obligation. i hate being reminded of it. i hate the expectation. the recompense. the horrible, angry, buzzing have-to - of all kinds of things and relationships and efforts.

tonight's been a bad reminder of that prison. and i still don't like his friends.

february

what is it about winter?

that makes my motivation go
sad and frigid, against the landscape
of snow and branches
broken by the weight of ice -
the precious price of January.

i can't summon the work needed
to start and do the work i need to do.
i'm down. i'm tired, and you may notice
i can' t hold my end of the conversation.
i'm worthless in this bitter cold.

it could be the frozen shelf of ground
that isn't melting,
that should be melting.
it's a glacier all around - slick and shiny
enough to see the sky.

it could be the wind that swings
the gate open and shut, whistling,
like a lost traveler, an adventurer inured
to cold and ice and and snow.
i don't know. i may never know.

but i hope to think more on this
from Gulfside soon.