In the tail end of a wildly productive day, I sit on the couch and ponder over the luxury, the privilege of being busy, of having things to do. I am blessed by my dual nature that seeks busyness and then wishes to alleviate itself of it. And somewhere between it, my life tends to happen. And most of my days pass, carried by this continual wheel that spins them around. And I am fortunate enough that my nature continues to be sated. I cannot begin to imagine, no, even entertain the thought of days that are filled with but rest, and no, I cannot think of days with never-ending work spread through them.
Just today, I joked with a friend and told them I am the least disciplined person I know, and they called it a bluff and informed me how wrong I was, how erroneous that claim was, but they only know what they see on the outside. It is not discipline that I have; I wish I was disciplined. I am but a dreamer who enjoys staying awake, a dogsbody who covets sleep, and I am blessed for it. It is a blessing to be exhausted. It is a blessing to wake up once again.