I'm An Extraordinary Machine

I certainly haven't been shopping for any new shoes. Mostly, I've been enjoying a long overdue period of narcicism and ego inflation. Over the past several years, I have developed a strange obsession with the shape of my skull. It is perfectly spherical. Perfectly. The roundness of my face and skull have come to dominate my self-image. I presume hats won't fit because of my skull. I am dissatisfied with my face because I think it is too round. I have taken to simply running my palms along my skull to perceive its shape. I am tired of feeling this way. So, taking my cues from the Bill Withers Sourcebook, I shaved my head. I look wonderful, round head and all.

I notice that my opponent is always on the go. Although, I suppose saying that it is hard to pin down my trouble with impulse control should be obvious. I'm trying not to post the sort of blog full of whiny "I have too many ideas" or "I am just too creative for my own good" or whatever other self-promoting drivel tends to be out there. My primary problem is that I have no filter for what constitutes a "good" idea from a "bad" idea. I act on them all indiscriminantly. This zero-criteria pattern has left me with mixed results. I admit I enjoy the irregularity of it. But I would also like a better sense of my own motivations. I am tired of feeling this way. I want to make my motives clear to myself. To hell with everyone else.

I mean to prove I mean to move in my own way. Knowing me in my early twenties meant to know this inextriciably. Knowing me in the past several years has meant to only gain a gleaning. I need to learn to "play the game" in the workplace. Like a dumbass, I overdid it. I feel I have done a sufficient amount of moving the work way. I am good at it. I am efficient at it. I hate it. I am moving backwards. I'm no good with choreography; I'm better with improv.

I can't help it, the road just rolls out behind me. Why pick the road less travelled? Half the time I don't know if I'm on dirt or pavement. Things have always seemed to just work out for me. This new mode of making explicit directives for myself is new. I am going to make a schedule to exercise by. I am going to force myself to make time for my creative endeavors. I am going to practice telling myself, "Fuck this job. Fuck it long, and fuck it hard." I am going to spend time just loving on my cat. I am going to embrace my giant, Charlie Brown, globe of a head. I am going to schedule myself exercise time. I am going to spend more time introspecting and less time extroverting.

If there was a better way to go, then it would find me. I choose to believe that it will all work out for me. It is not the natural order of things; often things go from bad to worse naturaly. It is not God's plan for me; if there is a God, His plan for me, at best, is an eternity in the gusty layer of hell and, at worst, is an eternity of painful introspection and discomfort. I choose to believe that it will all work out for me because I believe, to the core of my being, in my own ability to succeed. And not in a Tony Robbins, self-helpy sort of way. There is nothing healthy about this belief. My unwaivering belief in myself comes from a pure Arrogance, with the capital A. I choose to believe it will all work out for me because I cannot but help believing in my myself. I am that great.

Thanks, Fiona.