Tomorrow

I'll eat better tomorrow.  I'll get more sleep, too.  Come to think of it, I'll start running again.  And after my run, I'm going to email a few hundred alums to see if someone can help me jumpstart my career.  And I'll start being a less aggressive driver.  And I'll learn German.  Oh, why not throw in some "practice compassion" and "start that screenplay" while I'm at it?

This goes on day after day, but each time it's a little more urgent and a little more frustrating.  It builds up, and there are only so many times I can regurgitate something from a self-help book before I can't even pretend that I'm not lying to myself.  "All those other times were just practice."  "It's never too late to begin!"  I'll make a note to add "stop lying to self" to tomorrow's list.

It's not as if I'm trying to achieve things that are new, strange, or unfamiliar.  That's the maddening part.  For example, I haven't eaten meat in five years.  Not one bit.  No exceptions for holidays.  No exceptions for that one hot dog at that one barbecue.  So why is that I can do that without much effort, but I can't resist that one little bag of Cheetos?  I used to spend hours in the library, alone, studying French.  So why is it that I can't find the time to finish a novel?

I don't have the answer to these questions, but I know that there are answers.  I'm going to take the rest of the summer to explore this.  Part adventure, part experiment.  Let's see where I am when September comes.