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How did I get so lame?

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This is something we obviously ask ourselves at various points of our lives. Namely, when shit just ain’t going so well. We bust out the dunce hat, streamers and noisemakers, and throw ourselves a pity party.

In the immortal words of Chrissie Hynde, welcome to the human race. Seems to be shit we do. And, again, in conjunction with, or immediately following other stupid shit.

How we deal with our lameness, I feel, reveals a lot about our character. If we curl up into a little ball and plop myself down in the nearest hole, I’m probably not going to get very far. If I get pissed off, track down the origin of when I started sucking so hard, it might be a bit more productive. But only a bit.

See, finding the why, I’ve learned, is valuable only insofar as tackling certain types of issues. That analysis can suck up as much time as Facebook, if you’re not careful. While it can be useful, it can equally result in being thwarted by your own stellar ability to maintain inert. Really. We human beings, as a modern society, have created whole technologies to allow us to become better equipped to be lazy. We’ve got it down to a science. Good job, guys.

And we fine little in this world as daunting as personal development. Mister P says you’re perpetually existing in one of two states — growing and evolving, or rotting and stagnating. Binary. One or the other.

While I felt I’ve made a hell of a lot of progress in my life over the last two years — 6 months, especially — it’s never enough. There’s always more that could be done. Might improve everything else if I just ….

And filling in that blank, achieving that potential goal seems a truly daunting task. I see all I’ve just harvested, and I’ve got to turn right back around and sow more? I haven’t even enjoyed the fruits of this labour — and I’ve got to make preparations already for more?

Damn. Rotting or growing. Obvious which one you don’t want to be.

It seems a lot to ask of someone, and yet, this is how he lives his life. Situation normal. I truly haven’t met another person that does. But then, few people are as effective, debt-free, well-invested, mentally sound and emotionally stable. Clearly, there’s some merit to this theory.

It’s also fucking daunting. I don’t even know where to begin.

Daydream … I fell asleep amid the flowers; for a couple of hours.

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Technically-speaking, at any point one achieves REM — day or night — they’re just dreaming. A daydream, in comparison, is more akin to a reverie, and is experienced when the brain changes state just enough that it’s not in full beta (pardon the terrible geek humour) and has not yet reached all delta waves. It’s coasting. As a result, images are more vivid, though one remains aware of the fact they’re still fully conscious. The title is a play-on-words, considering I’d simply drifted off into REM during the latter daylight hours.

I remember the red trellis most of all. There wa nothing particularly lovely about it; not in colour, nor shape. It sort of waved in and out of the heavier bar that connected the railing to the balustrades. Iron, but not wrought. And very, very red. I was enjoying the place: a condominium near the Los Angeles beach cities, with a weird, uber-comfortable stadium-like theatre composed entirely of soft, squishy leather materials, a decent sized screen, and a little full-serve wet bar on either side. The man next to me, who was balding and in his later forties, was shaking his head, looking kinda grim. “What’s wrong?” I asked, patting the leather. He just needed to relax.

“You can’t honestly pretend like you like this place,” he said, matter-of-factly, not moving his hand from his chin; beady-eyes seemingly fixed upon some vague spot of the large screen. I don’t recall what it was showing, but I’m sure it was some popular film. The day was breathtaking; not too warm, or too cold. Blue sky and breezy. I felt like I was wandering in a coastal artist’s painting that was constructed out of sheer love of the scene itself, regardless of commission. (more…)

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