journeys in the morning of the afternoon

655th post, yay. don't feel up to much today. woke up way too late, due to the relatively reality-inspired fact reflected in yesterday's prose post: my habit of going to bed way too early in the morning, meaning - right at the moment - I'm tired as fuck. spent all morning reading random free of charge fashion mags and sipping strong coffee and listening to below-mentioned anticimex personnel tearing down the walls and interior of the room next to me, really loud, for a really long time, keeping the entire building wide awake and annoyed. apparently, my neighbour did have cockroaches in his cupboard, poor bloke. hope the bastards aren't relocating themselves into mine, as of right now. and by that I mean the vermin, not the anticimex dudes, although I'm too fond of the latter either. in any case, I am currently feeling a little in-between-of-everything, and some tips/ideas as to how to give one's creative vibes and inspiration a proper boost would be received with much gratitude. logistics, practical problems, bureaucracy, work, papers, treaties, cleaning and tidying, messing stuff up again, seem to be all that's left to occupy my mind these days, and maybe the sheer amount of stuff actually needs to be done, proves the real reason behind my lack of energy to indulge in other things. can't complain too much, though, and am not feeling too bad, just a little...uninspired, I suppose, and a little tired, down and out. could be due to the weather alone, even, which is excessively depressingly grey, or the fact that an entire era of my life is coming to an "end" and I need to find myself other activities to keep my brain and time going. however, the range and multitude of choices disrupts my ability to choose, and distracts me from the true problems in question, consequently I'm straying in every direction instead of focusing on the main thing I should focus on: words. happy ones, primarily. of various languages. of various styles. and jotting them down, somehow, shaping something proper and constructive out of it, preferrably in a context of fanciful, accesible, poetic fiction...la-di-da. yet, I keep forgetting who I am and what I do and what I can and what I love, and being in touch with one's true self and one's real, true desires, certainly must be the key premise to enabling one's mind to make itself up, or whatever seems to be the issue here. first, I reckon, one must discover the personal will, the proper want to do, and then one can decide as to what to do. so, my main goal and future plan, for the time being, to acquaint myself with myself again and examine my heart to unveil what it is I should set out to become next. sounds like a plan. except, of course, it ain't, it's a manner of getting towards the making of a plan, or even: a planning ability, which I've never possessed, ever. suppose one has a bit of a way to go, then. but maybe that could make for a backdrop of happiness, too, the fact that one's commencing on the journey in the first place? the fact that one's dwelling on what such a journey, or attemtpting at decisiveness, would take? ... I wonder.

ps: and if the former posts seem to mirror me being Perez (Hilton), this one's me being all Paulo Coelho-esque; treasure pressure precious meaning of life, alchemy and roads of wisdom. and lovin' it. who said I couldn't be a bit pretentious if I wanted to?