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A morning like this and I remember, or realize, maybe this isn't what I want.

A thing that sounds awesome but actually isn't is working a high-paying job that doesn't bring you any joy. You show up to work every morning, earn several hundred dollars in a day (whether or not you produce something of value), and then go home to maybe eat, or maybe join the guys after work for a beer or four, or maybe just watch TV, then go to sleep, and repeat the ritual of showing up, doing nothing, and raking in easy cash for another day.

Another thing that sounds awesome but actually isn't is being someone's booty call. Especially when you have absolutely no feelings for that person. And they don't impress you. And you sort of have things to talk about, but not really.

Sure, she might be gorgeous, you might forget the rest of the world for a second when she smiles, and you might enjoy her touch just for lack of anything similar from anyone else; for the years of girls coming and going without much romanticism. It might feel nice to feel that emotion from her — even if it's only to get in your pants. But it's not really that great.

When you wake up in the morning to her lying naked next to you, and the vodka's left your system, and you're thinking about the day ahead and, really, all you want to accomplish in life, you realize she has no part in it. You just wanted some company; a single day where you're not alone. You didn't need the sex; in fact, a good conversation would've been more satisfying. Masturbation will produce the same result as casual sex, for less money and in much less time. But good conversation is endlessly satisfying — and can't be done alone. So yeah, when she just wants sex, it's not actually that awesome. It's actually a waste of time.

Maybe one day I'll actually realize this.

It occurs to me now that the mind offers so much safety from the world; thinking before acting, reflecting, ruminating. Enough time in your head and you might never act on your thoughts — or those potential actions might lay dormant for years.

I want to use my body. I want to put it out in the world — that dangerous, muddy world. I want it to be vulnerable to all the things it hides from while I sit, motionless, thinking. But I have no desire for extremes. I don't want to go so far as to flirt with death, as no matter what I do, she and I will copulate one day. And on that day I'll go willingly. But today I merely want to push past the fear I have (hello, again) of coming out of my head. Of wearing out my muscles. Of moving my legs until I'm miles from another human — and not being gripped then by fear.

This is a rerun of a long-lost life episode. Before a career in making money began, I had a career of pushing my limits. In the city this week I learned it does me no good to keep dwelling on losses, so I'll mention a potential gain from this fact: I've traveled this trail before. Where then I had time for deep, methodical examination, today I must be quick in my wits. This fact shouldn't push me all the way to rushing to conjure answers, but rather push me just far enough to reside just out of my head, just in my body — that sweet spot of here and now.

This is a rerun. And as I know from last time and all the times in between, at some point you've spent enough time thinking. At some point you realize you can't anticipate all the potential (or most likely) outcomes. You will never be able to mentally see the future without sending your body out into the word to create it. Your action in building the future is what moves you forward; changes you; evolves you. Action creates purpose, which creates action, which creates purpose, ad infinitum. And when your self is more in line with yourself, action and purpose will be so close, so indistinguishable — a rapidly vibrating nucleus for the atom of your life. Now, in the scope of your life, is the time for this.

I've been made dull, and made my world dull. The vision is soft, fuzzy, lacking clarity; and I keep it out of focus so that I might never fall in love with the details; abscond off with life in a split-second impulse.

I constantly test limits with authorities. Doing the bare minimum of homework; doing only the necessary chores; working only as much as is expected. Eventually, maybe, someone will clarify their expectations. And when they do I make a decision: will I benefit more from choosing my autonomy and creativity, or from obliging the authority? It's all calculated, never predictable in itself, and generally my authorities either have something I want or can exert unfavorable power over my life, which will factor in to the decision.

So most times I stay within the lines they've drawn me.

The authorities enjoy this. It generally makes them feel good; lets them relax, now that their words have weight. But in me, the individual ultimately longing for freedom (despite, frankly, being too cowardly to fully commit to its pursuit), a gravity well forms. The reality of having made a strong outward decision (“I will obey”) solidifies, and a foreign planetary system of behavior grows. My now ostensible actions stand in stark contrast with my internal desires, but somehow I'm less alienated with myself. I see life as it is, now that I've decided on something, instead of deciding every moment to not make a decision and maintain the status quo.

No. I've decided to accept a cage. I've decided to live in it peacefully. And the words and images and truths come easily now that I know where I've planted my feet.

I will continue to live in this cage. It is my home right now, and I'll be comfortable in it — at least for the moment. But on the day I decide to move, I'll make the decision knowing this cage. I'll know its every detail; its gaps and exits. I'll take the direct path to freedom. And in the meantime, I'll no longer steep in delusions of the walls around me.

For some of us humans — mostly the introverts, I'm sure of it — we dig holes, jump in one, and proceed to try and climb our way back out of it. For if there were no holes, no jobs we hated but did anyways — nothing to make us miserable — we could just amble down the sidewalk wearing nothing but a grin. You'd look up at the sky and trees around you and your only thought would be, “Wow. This is great.” You'd think, “I'm alive, this is wonderful,” and maybe “Look at all the things I can do! I can climb a tree or run or stop or breathe through my nose.” And you'd be happy.

Most of the time we are probably happy but don't realize it. Because anyone who has been so happy that they can no longer ignore it knows what happens once it is realized. The thoughts of tomorrow suddenly show up, or the futile stretching and grasping for this feeling begins — the hope to just keep it forever. The incessant use of the internationally-known phrase “I love you” is this hope. Happiness, like the heart or the entire human body, doesn't maintain its original manifestation forever.

I want to live. I don't want to end up old with a crusty heart, solidified from my younger years of carousing, largely in pointless fashion and to pass the time. I'm not very old but also not young. At this point, it's clear the world isn't going to naturally provide the environment that I need to live how I want. It's not for the world to do, I know. At least, now I do.

It's up to me. To put myself in that environment. To make that environment. To make decisions and to stay true to them. I want to live how I want and no one is going to make that happen for me.

I've lived with a sort of malaise recently. I haven't been able to put my finger on what's really wrong.

It could be less sleep. It could be little time for reflection. It could be the season.

I get up, go to work, come home, mess around on the internet. There's an unending list of chores to do, but I save them for another day. I just want to feel like things are going right and be excited to go through my days, but I haven't felt like this.

I'm a big believer in “mind over matter,” so when I started noticing how persistent this shitty feeling was, I tried changing things.

I thought about past times when I felt on top of the world. I thought about what life was like then; what I did and thought about every day. But this only made things worse because my next thought was, well now it can't be that way, or I've drank too much over the past few years to have those kind of insights anymore. And I have to make money. I have to go to work every day. I have to do chores. I alone am responsible for what I do and how my life goes now, so I need to take charge.

I've also seen myself get fatter over the past few years, getting squishy in the midsection, and finally decided to do something about it. It's something, right? So I started biking to work again, even though I have to ride on busy roads with all the drivers speeding and texting, rushing to get to work before everyone else, and ride up huge hills (though the way down is always nice). I also started working out — lifting weights, because it's relaxing. And I've changed my diet as best I can, going for protein over carbs, and keeping beer out of the house as an added barrier to my most favorite source of weight gain.

These things have started taking up more of my day, especially since deciding to work out on my lunch break. I feel like maybe I'm doing something wrong by not sitting at my desk for as much as my daily 8-hour session as possible, but I also look at it this way: when you have a splinter in your foot, your body bugs you with pain to make you pay attention. My thinking is that a mild depression (or whatever the hell it is) might be a mental splinter, a signal from my body making sure I address things before it goes in any deeper.

I'm lucky enough to not get harassed too much while I stretch the boundaries of my boss's expectations. But still, sometimes figuring out exactly what's going wrong, and reflecting on your own actions and hopes is a prerequisite for doing you