I feel I have been struggling to find quiet time to read and write recently. I can blame it on many things, but I know within that I am to blame for this feeling. When I get time, I waste it. I convince myself that I need to relax first to get in the groove before I can write or read. I have been relaxing for a few weeks now, and it has only made me more tired.

This leaves me frustrated. Lazy consumption of other’s work is meaningless if it does not trigger any thought. I do that the most these days. I read, but I do not think. I write, but they are shallow thoughts. When do I spend time to churn a few ideas? To word them into something profound? You should write what feels right, I understand. But if it is only the deserts you chomp on, you won’t feel satiated after a point.

I need action, both to my mind and my body. Isn’t it curious that long phases of inactiveness can slowly wear them down? Both readily slide back to their lazy defaults. I need to be strong to push back and to make them move their asses.

Without that, what I have is a dull mind and a couch-clinging body.