Today was somewhat of a failure.

I say somewhat because the day is not yet done, and as such, I’m not yet comfortable with calling it a failure. Sad thing is, I have been quite comfortable with calling days failures.

The reason I’m designating the already passed part of today a failure is that I fell back on some old habits, and wasted the precious time of the world. This morning was supposed to be somewhat of a day off this week. I had three hours of my own time, without any obligations, nested between my self-imposed duty to walk my companion to the subway, and to take her bike in to a friend of mine for repairs (since he’s my friend, it’s in my neck of the woods, I have the time, and it’s something I’m happy to do if it results in an increase in bicycle adventures.)

From the get go, I crossed each one off today’s to-do list, without completing them. I opted to sleep in instead of walking. I proceeded to sleep in, and in the process, sleep through my free time. I awoke after that window, to a dozen missed calls, having missed an opportunity to acquire a free item I have been desiring for months now.

As such, the first, completed half of today has been a failure.

But I refuse to let the rest of the day be a failure. The first thing that entered into my mind after processing the aftermath of my wayward morning was how absolutely necessary it was for me to write today.

Immediately, my mind responded, old habits up in arms: I don’t feel like writing.

But as I worked through this feeling, it dawned on me how wrong this feeling was. Because the truth is, there was nothing more than I felt like doing. As I went through my day to day activities, salvaing what pieces of the day I could, I found myself composing sentences to be elaborated on, deciding what I wanted today’s piece to be about, figuring out what I wanted to say and how I wanted to say it.

Today I realized that no matter how true and visceral the feeling of tiredness and lethargy may be, it is nothing in comparison to the feeling of a tired and unactive life.

I’ve been complicit in my own self-sabotage for eons now, by being complacent with my own failures. It’s only been in the past year of my life (concurrent with meeting my corporeal muse) that any time I accept failure in my life, it burns inside of me.

In the past, it’s been burning holes insie of me.

From now on, I want it to burn as a raging fire inside an engine.

I realized a while ago that my lack of responsibility for my own actions and failures has lead me onto this self-defeating, soul-negating style. But reader, guess what I did with this knowledge?

It was filed away, gleaned, but not truly understood.

I understand now. I’m tired, but I want to earn it now.