The Penitent: Comfort in Discomfort

you know, for believing that i have as little patience as i do, it strikes me as strange that i seem to do nothing with my life but wait. i keep saying to myself: “one more hour, one more day, one more week, one more month, one more year, one more decade–just one more.” it’s much like in soccer pre-season training or swim practice; i would just repeat to myself “one more step/stroke, one more lap, one more step/stroke, one more lap,” lap after lap–trudging along, half alive and with only one goal. i was waiting to go to college for so long, waiting to change schools, waiting for a break, waiting to leave morgantown… now i am waiting to return to morgantown and school. and then what? waiting to graduate, waiting to find a job, waiting to become financially stable, waiting to die a lonely death. i’ve waited for love, and i suppose that i still wait although it is no longer something i expect. ultimately, i am waiting for death. for an end. for a resolution. waiting to have nothing left to wait for.

i need to fucking change my life. but honestly? i am waiting until i have more energy and motivation.

fuck.