It used to be easier, I think. All of it. The reading, the writing, the walking, the talking, the work, the play. I feel like there must have been a time it was easy. Otherwise how would I have gotten this far?
These days, everything is a struggle. Not just a struggle to do the thing I mean to do, that I’m supposed to do, but a struggle to do anything at all. There’s a constant lure in my head. Not “wouldn’t I rather be reading” or “wouldn’t I rather be playing”, but “wouldn’t I rather just be lying down and doing nothing?” That last one is the most seductive.
It’s not even that I’m tired. It’s that the perceived returns for the effort are so low. I used to enjoy things more, I think. That made it easier. I also used to have grander dreams, thoughts that my efforts might pay out into something wonderful. That also made it easier. Now I just go through the paces. I do the things I’ve always done because I enjoyed them before.
I consider it an accomplishment some days to even sit down and play a video game.
Always in the back of my head now is the question: how long can I keep this up? Is it going to get easier again? Or does it only ever get harder?
5 Minutes a Day 