I’m dwindling. I had plans. I have plans every day, but the frequency with which they change is amazing. I’m always running around in circles when it comes to plans. The circles never change, but they differ because of the arrangement of priorities and timely targets. On one day, I’m on plan number one from circle number seven. On the other day, I’m on plan number seven from circle number one. I get things accomplished with time but I lose my grip on another half achieved plan in the process. I guess I haven’t mastered the art of focusing on one objective till I’m finished, but I’m afraid of the fact that concentrating too much on one thing that has the probability of failing altogether might leave me depressed, disillusioned and discouraged in an unrecoverable way. Besides, knowing too much or everything about one thing is not healthy according to me. Sometimes I stall, sometimes I just self-sabotage and sometimes I postpone and procrastinate. I don’t think I work hard. No…I work a lot. There is a difference, you know. If I worked as much as I did on something that I loved, I’d obviously see a remarkable difference. A remarkable difference if I could make it generate as much money as the scarcely favorite gig that I circumstantially toil every day except Sundays. I love a bunch of stuff. The things I love revolve light years away from each other, but if you put them together, they’ll give you a masterpiece on a silver platter. I love computers, engines, and music. When you love all that stuff, it’s evident that you love books as well. I picture myself as a proficient software, sound and mechanical engineer who can work magic on any turntable, motor engine, MPC or mixer and write a book during his free time. It’s kind of a mixture of Dr.Dre, Fatman Scoop, Keith Duckworth, Jackson Biko, and Paulo Coelho in one package (I think Jackson Biko is a proficient writer, but I’ve never seen his book… Oh well). Sometimes a voice in my head yells, “Focus man!” I listen to it, but only in the heat of that particular moment. Most of the times I hear that voice, is when I’m working for a salary so I fix myself several cups of coffee just to get through the compulsory part of financial deadlines. I don’t complain. I mean, I hardly complain. I’m an adapter… just like every other being on this planet. Everything I do is a means to an end.
The idea of an externally imposed time schedule is what I’ve been stressing about lately. I have very irregular sleeping patterns. I can stay up all night reading, listening to music, playing games, watching movies then sleep for only four hours and sometimes I can sleep for three hours in the afternoon and stay up for thirty-six hours. Sometimes I can sleep for a whole day and half the night then wake up at three in the morning and start doing push ups and listening to music. There is nothing I need more than my own schedule. The idea of freedom… that’s what I’m working on. When I was a child, I thought freedom was all about adulthood. My dreams were big… huge. They still are, only this time reality checks are much more relevant and something they call ‘bills’ came up when I left my mom’s house. I always had a feeling that money had something to do with being free so I figured out how to make enough to get what I needed as I figured out how to make enough to get what I wanted. Multiple months down the line, I got slapped by the realization that there is no such thing as enough money. That does not exist. ‘Enough’ was made for bottles and containers, not human beings. I’m struggling to find myself. I hope I don’t run off a cliff just to see whether wings will sprout off my shoulders.