There exists a sort of organized chaos within the clutter of my mind. Most of the time I spend trying to wrangle it into submission for the sake of being a productive human being. Every once in a while, though, the patterns become clear and there is a calm in this otherwise messy space.

I’ve spent the past few days in the calm and have had an incredible amount of output, writing-wise. The concern is that once I’ve exhausted this energy, I’ll be back to never being able to find the words I’m after. That is always the concern but it is an irrational demand I make upon myself.

You can’t expect peak-level output every day of the year. We need time to reset and decompress, but there is some part of me that sees this as an unforgiveable act of laziness. Then I’ll dig myself a hole to sit in and mope before realizing it wasn’t necessary.

I find it easy to have compassion for others but there are times it is nearly impossible to have any for myself. It is something I need to address actively so I can live a better life, something approximating the life I imagine I should be living.