And it rips my life away, but it’s a great escape.

Sup folks.

When it comes down to it, the real heart of the problem is self discipline. I am, much to my chagrine, completely devoid of it. I scrape by each day with a miraculous, ghetto-rigged combination of luck, wit, procrastination, intimidation, and out-right deception. It’s hard work being a sham, although you certainly wouldn’t think so.

As we speak, a hastily scrawled list on the back of an Albertson’s receipt entitled “Get This Done You Lazy Shit” rests guiltily on my desk. I read the list over, and other than a few vague responsibilities at the bottom (like “Train” and “Write”), every item is mundane, achievable, and absolutely necessary. And yet here I am chewing the fat with you shiftless bums instead of Handling My Bidness. I do my best to retain a positive and humorous attiitude, but my retarded apathy and constant responsibility-shirking will no doubt bite me in the ass eventually. Deservedly so. God dammit.

The residual high from a good capoeira class is sparing you the full extent of my angst tonight; be thankful. Hours ago, after writing out and reading over my stupid god damn list, the air of this tiny room was so rank with self-loathing I could barely breathe. I really just need to stop being a fuck, and that’s the long and short of it.

I finished reading Che’s biography today, a factor which no doubt contributes to my vicious introspection. After learning a great deal about his life, becoming intimate far beyond what your average Hot Topic Che-shirt wearing suburbanite sack of shit knows, I’m… impressed I guess you could say.
It’s strange because, ideologically speaking, I think the man was completely 100% off-base. Call me a jaded American imperialist, but the visions he had for the future of Cuba, Latin America, and humanity in general were the kind of hazy socialist pipe-dreams that are completely unrealistic in any setting involving real human beings.

That’s not the point.

The point is that this man, and with all the mistakes he made and pain he caused he was certainly a man, fought tooth and nail every day of his life. Weakness, surrender, complacency… Yeah fucking right. We’re talking about an educated, affluent Argentinian doctor who, rather than spend his life playing golf and living like a debutant in Buenos Aires, led rebel fighters to victory (and defeat) in tropical hells I can’t even begin to imagine.

Where does one get that kind of determination? Organization, discipline, charisma, fearlessness… my day to day life is so devoid of virtues like this that even the words ring hollow. They’re just adjectives, the kind of shit you read in comic books or Army brochures.

How can you, well I guess it’s not you… how can I justify slithering my way through days filled with squandered education, computer games, naps and pop tarts when someone like Che exists? And it has nothing to do with heroism or adventure or fame, it has to do with worthiness and strength and achievement. It has to do with meaning.

Perhaps this is all best summed up by a list comparison:

Me –
Laundry
Email TA
Email 229 Group
Study for 365 Midterm
Pay Bills
Return library books (including Che biography)
Order robot parts

Che –
Liberate the oppressed
Overthrow the corrupt
Inspire the meek
Write like a fucking pulitzer prize winner
Train and toil despite debilitating health problems
Defy

What the shit.
Notice that “Return Trevor Gregg’s Biography to Library” is not on his list.

It’s days like this that make me want to move to Brazil. The sheer foreignness of a place can add meaning to the trivial; to place myself in a situation where I’m forced to excel and adapt and explore, or risk failure. Anywhere outside of the English-speaking safety net, even if it means sacrificiing the opportunity for a life untempered by hardship or danger. Better to die face down in a ditch in Martinique than to spend the rest of my days getting weaker and more timid in the flourescent glow of mediocrity, of regret.

The worst thing about all this is, we both know tomorrow morning my alarm is gonna go off. I’m gonna snooze it a few times, sigh, and get out of bed. I’m going to pointedly avoid reading my list, I’m going to drift through two hours of lectures, alternately daydreaming and falling asleep. After completing maybe one or two items on the list, I’ll play guitar, read a book, WoW, and feel guilty. I’ll scrape by, minimally, and take another step toward the kind of uninspired future I’m stumbling towards. Frustrated and tired, I’ll go to bed again, a marginally worse person than when I woke up.

I need to figure out how to stop plugging holes in the dam; I’m running out of fingers and I’m not getting anywhere.

Time to cut the bullshit and move forward. Pushups, writing, studying, training… anything. I’m tired of this torpor, and all its associated bullshit. Shut up and move.

Five months to graduation.

-T.

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