I've been in a funk lately.  Actually, "a funk" is a relatively mild way of putting it.  I've been depressed.  Not suicidal, but definitely off.  It's one of those moods where your friends try to cheer you up for about 10 minutes and then decide to bail before you drag them down too.  I can't even blame them.  

Earlier tonight, though, I was standing outside smoking a cigarette and feeling a little better, since part of the problem was my latest cold turkey attempt (I don't remember it being this hard last time).  As I enjoyed the nausea and the nicotine rush, I replayed the day in my head.  

It had been one of those days where I'd had errands to run, and there were more than enough hours to accomplish everything that I needed to do, but I still didn't do a damn thing.  I tried to recall where the hours went:  Youtube videos, Sim City, a friend came to visit and left in a bad mood, more Sim City, and now this cigarette.  That was it.  I didn't even eat a meal.  

I looked at the ice left on my stairs from Saturday's storm and thought that it was just a matter of time before I slipped and broke something important.  I could have bought an ice breaker and some salt today and thawed those steps out.  Ditto for the driveway out front.  I knew I needed to remove the ice from under my car's wheels before I could try to pull out for work tomorrow, otherwise it would just roll backward down the incline and crash through my landlady's garage door.  I had realized that these things needed doing much earlier in the day, but only now, at 2:30 in the morning, did I even consider them possible.  

My day had been spent in a gluttonous cycle of joyless pleasures.  Nothing I did all week had any substance.  I didn't even shave or brush my teeth this morning.  I hadn't accomplished anything remotely productive.  I just gorged myself on mindless pseudo-fulfillment.  

Suddenly, I felt completely disgusted.  I couldn't bear the thought of my lazy ass.  I decided to have a brutally honest moment with myself and I stumbled onto THIS WEEKS ANSWER TO ALL OF LIFE'S PROBLEMS (cue the prize-unveiling music from The Price is Right).

This weeks answer is: Courage.

In my moment of deep self examination I asked myself, "what are you so afraid of?"

All at once I was reminded of that brilliant Nelson Mandella quote: "Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure."  

My greatest obstacle, as of late, has been self-sabotage.  For some perverse reason, I've been completely stagnant because I'm afraid of "getting it right."

I haven't been writing since my professors told me that I have the potential to be published.  I haven't worked out since I'd convinced myself that I can have an effective exercise program without risking pneumonia.  I haven't stuck to my budget since I got my scholarship money.  I've dedicated myself, over and over again, to short-term pleasures because I'm afraid that I might actually find long-term happiness outside of my insipid little routine.  

When I finally realized this, my shame washed over me like a bitter wave.  I took the last pull of my dying cigarette and extinguished it against the brick wall outside of my apartment.  

Heading back inside, I looked around:  I had managed so far to get a car, a job, an apartment, and a 3.8 GPA; but I was slowly throwing it all away by being a lazy slob.

I use the words lazy slob because I was way beyond procrastination by this point.  How lazy was I?  I wasn't even trying to make up excuses for my misgivings anymore.  I just didn't feel like doing anything.  That's how lazy I was.  I had essentially given up on the idea of being a productive member of society.  It was gross.  I walked to the bathroom, taking note of the floors in dire need of sweeping and mopping.  I stood in front of my mirror and essentially made a resolution:  No more.

I picked up my toothbrush and scrubbed away the thick, musty taste in my mouth.  I rinsed and began shaving.  I couldn't remember why I had put off doing this, but that's probably because I didn't have a reason to begin with.  Ten minutes later, I felt like a new man.  My face was clean and smooth.  It was all very cathartic in a painfully symbolic way.  I resented my turning a simple act of hygiene into a ritualistic metaphor, but it had to be done.

I then decided to address fear number one:  I made myself articulate and record a series of emotions and revelations that were all very significant to me, despite my certainty that no one will care to read it. Then I went and ordered a copy of Writers Market.  I'm going to stop fearing rejection. I'm going to get published by the end of the year.  It's not a resolution.  It's a fact.

Tomorrow morning, momentum willing, I will rise early and knock out a quick workout before heading to the hardware store to pick up an ice breaker, a shovel, and some salt.  

Right now, though, I am going to crawl into bed and read some Marquez until I fall asleep.  Ah, Gabo.  You're always good for what ails me.