He felt overwhelmed, exhausted and tired, after realizing he had so much and so many things to do, both personally and professionally, like two gigantic forty foot tidal waves coalescing together in front of his eyes before lifting him up and crushing his limp body by hurling him towards rocks, hardened over from the past thousand or probably more years. Strangely, he didn’t feel panicky, having accepted his situation by believing he could still pull off an insanely sleepless amount of hours in productivity and rise above it all with a couple of sales closures.
He knew he could do it. The next seventy-two hours would be the most crucial days of his life. Because he would be in the midst of personal and professional turmoil, primarily because of himself, or rather his inaction and failures to completely utilize the potential of his self, choosing to focus on multiple things at multiple times, rather than focusing on one thing at one time, and move forwards. He needed to take a few deep breaths, whenever he felt too many things were being heaped on him at once, and continue his unwavering focus towards the one task that would be completed and not left mid-way because the angst of not thinking about the rest panicked the mind into a frenzy.
As he was thinking, right now, he felt the urge to let go of it all and choose to mindlessly scroll at his smartphone, of which he had fallen out of love precisely because he felt so distracted all the time. It was a miracle that his reading habit and attention wasn’t affected, even if his ability to focus on one professional task was, resulting in massive, over-stretched delays sometimes lasting weeks, when the task could have been got done with in one hour of clear thinking. That was all, one hour of fresh, clear thinking, a resource so scarce that he couldn’t remember the last time he was immersed completely doing just one thing, except video games or movies.
He wanted to be super-productive and constantly stimulate his brain all the time, eliminate every moment spent not thinking except day dreaming and achieve all the desires that he thought about. He wanted to do much, he didn’t want to stop, ever. He wished he didn’t need to sleep, that Sleep could be conquered without any side affects, making everyone more and more productive. There was so much to do in the world, and the competition egged him on furiously, it was exactly as Darwin had said. The competition was necessary, else progress wasn’t possible. Progress was the only constant.
An itch kept at him, constantly, niggling him at every second. It emanated from deep within his mind, cajoling him to feel overwhelmed by making him cow down and under-perform in the face of pressure. But, he would not stop. He would continue, as he had been for the last four months, constantly telling himself that great things were coming for him. He knew some of them were going to happen soon, and he felt the excitement well-up inside him, like rains irrigating the lush paddy fields.
He would never surrender. He imagined a constant, meddling voice that would never stop, its purpose just to stop him whenever possible, and himself, allocating a portion of the day’s energies to fight it, and use the rest of the energy to fight against what the environment would throw at him, with the victorious whoops, thumps and laughs lasting well into the long nights.
What people usually blamed was technically right. Most people blamed their environment or a few components of the environment. or themselves.
They ought to blame two. They were fighting against two things, not one.
Both the environment and themselves. Not just one of them.
Marijuana Maharaj 