Then it hits you…

The sobering understanding, the pang of proactive regret that accompanies the realization that other people a getting shit done…and you’re left wondering “what the fuck am I doing?” You start to think back over all the lists of things you should have done; you catalog all the opportunities that you didn’t take because they weren’t set on a deadline, and you truly thought – truly believed you had “more important things to do.” Then, when you’re finally done making that list, you’re thirty and you’re bitching at the 29 year old you for not doing more, and he in turn blames you at 28, and so on until you’re standing in your room, yelling at the twelve-year-old version of yourself for refusing to take an interest in anything more significant than Mortal Kombat and masturbation.

But there was potential. There was all this stuff you were going to do. You had plans. Well the surprise is in discovering that thinking about doing things is not the same as actually doing them…though your mind pretends they’re the same thing. It does this because you’re lazy, and because plans indicate progress. The problem is, you’re not going to do anything with those plans beyond sitting back and admiring them – pretending like the lines on a blueprint are the same thing as the house they represent. Blueprints are shitty for providing shelter in the rain. Build a house.


I’ll do it tomorrow…

…when it’s light out, and I can see my blueprints more clearly.

I need to rethink the skylight in the foyer anyway…


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