a knock on my door

The past three days have been crap, I have been completely absorbed in dragging myself through the day, through writing my thesis, not standing up, feeling depressed, wallowing, feeling sorry for myself, dealing with all the problems centred on my apartment, my night club neighbour, the deadline stress – just about everything. Today was the icing on the cake! I just watched Lindsay’s video where she’s vlogging in Powell’s bookstore, speaking about her depressive movement and the moment of stopping!

The moment of stopping this state that I find myself in is now- of course! I stop in one breath. What happened, where was I? I can get very angry at these mind-traps. The absolute blindspots that they present to my life, that I subject myself to, accompanied by the unmistakable loss of self-directive engagement- I let it happen. I make myself miserable and become so wrapped up in it I won’t even see it. Until something knocks at my door, someone’s words bounce off somewhere inside of me and like snowwhite I resurface again from yet another deep sleep. Crap.

I see clearly that when I’m not here but stuck somewhere in mind-trap-space, I stifle my creativity. For example, I’m writing on chapter three, that should be the easiest chapter to write, it should be, I made the damn thing. I know it inside and out, yet I have taken nine days so far to write it. I had envisioned seven days -max.  It should have been finished today, but instead I got so mind-trapped that I watched two episodes of Caprica. This is a big flag, a red flag to wake up -fast.

I never owned a TV in my life, I can probably still count the hours of TV I have watched although there were times when I house sat or stayed with friends that I have been momentarily absorbed into the machine. But honestly it is really not a significant amount. Even as a kid I never watched much TV. It always felt to me as if I am wasting my time. I probably had a sticker “kill your television” in my drawer at some point. Even when I try to watch serial TV like some of the BBC iplayer series on art history, or even Battlestar Gallactica, I loose interest after a while, it becomes a commitment that I’m not willing to make, not consciously but unconsciously. I used to be bothered by not having all the cultural references that some of my TV fiend friends would pull up during conversations, today I could care less. I have dealt with my culture split, I know I will never be able to have this cultural monothematic imprint that most experience throughout their lives.

TV isn’t even the point, it could have been politics, I used to get into the same mind-trap-space when reading on politics. From there I would surface “mad as hell” because of all the injustice, all the deception, the fraud, the corruption – it’s not as easy to recover from politics than from Caprica. Episodes like Caprica offer the perfect dreamworld, an obvious one which stands squarely in opposition with the sad reality of politics and all the suffering in this world. Recall that I ‘m here to change myself so that the world can change permanently. I am that world, and in the last three days I gave shit about all that.

When I started this blog I made a commitment to myself to stand up while writing my thesis. I admit that I have fallen and I am now standing up again. However, the commitment I made is not about the exclusion of falling, it’s about the inclusion of standing again and again, after each fall. Perhaps it can be inclusive of making a Self effort to falling a bit less.

I forgive myself for allowing myself to fall and become stuck.

I forgive myself for allowing myself to be consumed by distraction.

I forgive myself for allowing myself to get upset and angry against the council not acting upon the noise abatement I am experiencing in my flat.

I forgive myself for allowing myself to refuse to find better ways to dealing with writing my thesis, e.g. sit in a cafe and work there when I can no longer work here.

I forgive myself for allowing myself to ‘feel’ bored writing up.

I forgive myself for allowing myself to ‘dream’ up ideas for artworks or studies or anything else that lies in the future and has nothing to do with the current moment of breath.

I forgive myself for allowing myself to complain about the state of my apartment.

I forgive myself for allowing myself to  ‘feel’ sorry for myself because I have no social life and am tied to writing up my thesis.

I forgive myself for allowing myself to ‘feel’ that my thesis has not much more to offer to me.

I forgive myself that I have not been consistent in my application.

 

 

 

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