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Scratch that

March 25, 2012

I’m tired and restless.  I have been for a while.  I think that’s probably one of the most frustrating combinations ever.  Jonesin’ for something to happen, something to do, but too frazzled in body and mind to actually engage if something really did happen.  It sets a person up for disappointment.  Whether the disappointment ends up being focused outwardly or inwardly depends on how it all shakes out, but either way, it’s really not a positive thing.

The thing is, I hate being busy for the sake of being busy.  I don’t like to keep moving simply to avoid being still.  I want my movement and activity to count for something that is meaningful to me.  If the choice is between doing absolutely nothing and piddling about just to keep busy, I’d rather do nothing.  When I do nothing, I’m in the state of readiness  for immediate action.  I’m not preoccupied with meaningless stuff that keeps me too busy to actually DO something.  Or sometimes it’s not that the things I could do are meaningless, but that I simply know they are not what I’m really supposed to be doing.  It’s the good crowding out the opportunity for the best.

But then when I find that I’m not doing something simply because I’m too tired, it doesn’t stop me from being restless.  It doesn’t stop me from having that edgy boredom that sucks even more life and energy out of me.  It’s still there, both egging me on and depleting me at the same time.

Sometimes I feel as if I have an itch right in the middle of my back.  No matter what I do, I can’t really reach it to scratch it to the point of relief and satisfaction.  Except it’s not really an itch, and it’s not really on my back.  It’s something just as maddeningly unreachable, and it’s deep inside me.

Maybe I’ll just sing with Bono a while:  “And I still haven’t found what I’m looking for…”

That’s not totally true, but it’s as close as I can come to describing it.

 

 

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