Insatiable

I never really understood it when people came up to me and whined about having a boring life. I have certainly lived in a boring place, but my imagination would never ever let me rest. If I could not gather with likeminded individuals for a story circle, or a poetry slam, or Tango, or a potluck, I could still sit and fantasise about that. Or write about doing that. Or read online about it. Or compensate the block with whatever creative opportunity was available to me. I have never been bored on a long bus ride. I never needed to read or talk to summon up images, ideas or drama. All I needed was Time.

As I carve free time in my current life circumstances, I feel like I will never have enough. I have managed to set up the gay milonga with couchsurfers and non-couchsurfers going every second Saturday of the month, and it is actually afloat. I have got a solid schedule for homework from the German class and this terrible housekeeping thing that I hate so vividly. I apply three of Abe's processes (Focus Wheel, Affirmation, and Meditation) daily and I listen to the Vortex workshops on the metro every morning on my way to work, plus I do Morning Pages and Triple Soul work before breakfast. And I seem to be writing very regularly. But now that everything sounds fine, and I can finally get back to my comfortable limit with two creative projects going on simultaneously, I discover that not only can I afford music lessons every other week, La Tabacalera de Lavapiés (one of the coolest social enterprises in town) is offering Mandarin lessons for free again.

I might be compulsive, or all this is really irresistible, but I seriously want to learn to say no. Today is Sunday, and I spent the whole week catching up with emails, cleaning, cooking and doing homework. Compensating for a busy week and Saturday with delayed work. Maybe at some point I might as well behave like a dull person, and just rest.

Image: Overstimulated, by Jon Burgerman.