That One Thing
2026-07-02
I've been quite tired lately, and I suspect this is because I haven't taken a midday nap in some time. Even after my morning caffeine dose, I still go about my day with much fatigue, but it's been tough trying to nap because even though I'm tired, I can't sleep. I'll just have to dose up on my Olanzapine tonight and hope for a more restful day tomorrow. I absolutely hate it when I have nothing really to do, yet can't find things to do because my fatigue is too high. Mostly, I end up resorting to small, dumb behaviors—usually checking messages, looking at my reading list and then proceeding to stare at it, or lying in bed, just staring at the ceiling. Then I'll go have a smoke, think about stuff for a few minutes, come back inside, and go back to that hypnagogic state I found myself in yet again. It's strange, the digital oscillation. Even over the last few years in my efforts toward digital sovereignty, I still find myself imprisoned by my most oppressive offenders: my own body and mind; such is life, I suppose. Still, even outside of menial distractions and the never-ending internalization, I can't say that things are oh so bad. It's just another day to get through, after all; no end, just the means.
Being tired is still a problem, especially because it depletes any greater sense of ambition. Even when I make efforts to ease my nerves, it's still quite the contentious problem—a greater inertia that prohibits me from faster, more consistent motion. Over the last year, I've made distinct efforts in establishing and maintaining certain daily "minimum requirements," as it were. I'm sure you've all been there before, too; but I've had quite the trouble in finding myself back at Square One several times over the last few years. I've felt like a spectator in my own life, and seeing everything else churn on and pass me by has been a difficult experience. In my mind, I rationalize it this way: in the same way I don't feel like I'm in control, everyone else has that same problem, and so because of that, there's less of a need to worry. However, the spikes in anxiety throughout the day tell me otherwise; the hard part is figuring out what the actual truth is. Sure, I can call bullshit on myself all day long, but finding the corrective behavior is a more elusive spirit I can only make meager attempts to grasp.
We can only be angry with ourselves for so long; we can only be kind to ourselves for so long. I've gotten better about not getting attached to those feelings, and understanding how to not lean into every small little impulse that passes through my head. But when I ask myself, "Okay, what should I actually be paying attention to instead?" I find myself at a loss. Everything else seems bad or wrong, yet the things that feel right are almost always objectively even more wrong. I can educate myself on international systems, psychology, means of control, and self-discovery ad infinitum, but there's still that difficult freezing I have to overcome in the face of the very moment: "What Now?" I'll tell myself multiple times a day, thinking about it, spinning on it, chewing the decision through; but then something else entirely happens. A forgotten idea, a nap to quell the fatigue—these things are actions in and of themselves, are they not?
Know thyself, or so I've heard. I don't think I want to know myself. I've spent so long telling myself there's nothing there, and that everyone else who believes in themselves that way is a fraud. I am not an agent, but a vessel. Not to say that my thoughts and actions aren't my own—accountability is important—but I don't want to pretend there's any level of brilliance here, lest I succumb to worldly attachments that have no cosmic meaning whatsoever. Pride is an ugly thing, but I want more than anything to stop mistaking it for despair. There is no "starving artist," no "moment when it'll all break through." No, it's all a process in enjoying the moment itself, and understanding that every day, whether I want it to be or not, is some kind of gift. The act of this life isn't to make some kind of mark, indelible and everlasting; rather, it's a means to ride that wave, and then the next one. And then the next one after that. More than anything, it's an act in perpetuating something greater than knowledge, greater than achievement, and most certainly greater than overcoming.
I don't have to tell you what that is.
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