Besides COVID kicking my ass, I’ve been feeling kinda numb and hopeless. Weird because as I felt like a robot, I was still able to clean, keep my room clean, start my box braids, and visit my parents. Ok real quick: there are different levels of “productivity”; the one where you feel the energetic motivation to get shit done, the one where your goals and ambition just push through, the one where you feel like a vessel that’s got a message to pass on, orrrrr, the one where you’re avoiding the actual productive tasks you’re supposed to do, leading to the misplaced motivation to create an anxious ball that jumps through your chest while pushing uncontrollable tears of despair, which then makes your cheeks itchy due to the saltiness. That was a long sentence that I should have broken down into multiple sentences. In fact, it was not “real quick”. The pent up anxiety made me do it. shrugs In other words, my weekend was the latter level of “productivity”: empty…but…full.
productivity