Writings: Pushing On

4am and I'm up. What happened? No clue, but I can't fall back asleep. I turn on the bathroom lights, and wonder if those are bags underneath my eyes or just shadows from the lighting; if they're temporary signs of too little sleep or permanent legacies of pushing life too hard. It's so early; it's so late, but I don't give a damn - let's get going.

The saying busy hands make happy minds is an aphoristic personal motto. I like to think I don't have the luxury for unhappiness or insecurity because there are more important things competing for my time and energy. Things like goals, new experiences, and this masochistic drive to do what's most difficult at any given moment, in any given situation. My ego lies in the constant battle against fears and failures. Perhaps my pride comes from teetering on the very edge of my capabilities without plunging into utter self-destruction. It's a very fine line on which to balance.

Too much momentum, like too much inertia, can lead to undesirable consequences. I know this; I live this. BALANCE is a God I worship, the ideal I strive to reach, and perhaps the purpose of my living all together. But how unattainable Godliness seems at times like these.

8am and beautiful sunshine kills my half-hearted attempts to doze. My eyes are rounded clam shells, angry and stinging, from the lack of a good night's rest. To hell with their complaining - no stopping now.