Motivation is a panic inducing bitch.

I’m feeling panicky today.

Not so much anxious as restless.

If I’m sitting, I should be standing. If I’m laying down, I should be walking around. If I’m watching a TV show, I need to be doing something else too. If I’m not doing anything, I should be writing.

It’s not anxiety it’s fear of missing out induced panic.

What if instead of doing nothing right now, I am supposed to be coming up with a brilliant idea? What if instead of taking a shower, I am supposed to be writing words that will change the course of a persons life, maybe my own?

Sometimes this happens to me and no matter what I do, it’s never enough. I could be cross stitching with my left foot, crocheting with the right, typing a blog with one hand, and my screenplay with the other and I would still be wondering what I could do to occupy my mouth. Can I teach my eyelids how to blink in Morse code so they can get in on the productivity action too?

I’m taking a break from this restlessness. I’m laying down so my heart will stop pounding so hard.

I’m typing so my annoying motivation will stop kicking me in the butt telling me I need to do something else.

I’m going to come up with a clever title, post this blog and calm myself the fuck down by crocheting (yes, that’s a thing I do sometimes) a blanket I’m making for my sister and find my space of Zen by re-watching my muse, my hero, Wentworth Miller’s mental health interview at Oxford University on YouTube. I’ve talked about it before.

It usually heals what’s wrong with me. I need some peace and quiet. I’m sure it will do the trick.

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