:: The Blurst of Times ::

:: 10.14.2002 ::

It seems to me that humans, having lousy night-vision and a great lack of overall body hair, or "fur," ought not be active during the cooler nighttime hours. This seems to be the evolutionary demand, and yet the further I delve myself into the chores and demands of life, the more I find myself being active during these same nighttime hours I am supposed to be sleeping through. At the risk of sounding unappreciative, I say that the light bulb, the central heating system, and more specifically, the ESRI ArcGIS software are all making my life glum.

However, there was that point in my life where I strove (strived?) to become greater than the evolutionary process and devolve sleep from my life. I was good, too. I could pull three hours a night for 13 straight days, and once went 52 hours without sleeping. But it was after that last stint, resulting in 16 hours of sleep in 18 hours, that I realized how good sleep is. Now, I can't seem to get below the five hours per night mark, and even that I cannot sustain for very long. Am I getting too old to be doing this? Have I just lost my passion for my work? My work is different than it was two years or even five months ago, but is that it, or have I lost my competitive edge? I just find it harder and harder to focus on the work at hand, bust the proverbial "balls," and get shit taken care of. It doesn't help that I am also getting fat.

Maybe this is where I should draw the line in the sand. Sitting at my desk at work, at 9.45 on a Monday, I want to say "Alright, that's it. Love handles be damned, it's time to whip this shit around!" Time to start going to the rec, time to start pulling those late nights. There was a time when I thought of myself as tough, sinew-y, raw, and sound. I now think of myself as a tub of margairine - not even the drive to be real butter. I am saying now (since I have given myself a nice little Knute Rockne kind of pep-talk) that the rest of this semester is going to be maintaining - not getting any worse. Next semester, there will be trials. Seattle will be a training ground to find the old me (that I have buried under too many late night trips to Wendy's). It's time.

"Knuckle up, bitch..."
:: Freddy F. at 10:47 AM [+] ::