This is not what I want, up at 6, trying to get it all done in the morning. Tired at work. Nothing but journal. Confused, stiff, uncomfortable. That would probably be a good way to describe me, as uncomfortable.
What I want? I want to be able to write whenever an idea comes. To exercise to read to think to try to make something of myself. I want that time to do those things. I want to pursue it. And language, sure. Why do I think I would do that if I didn’t have to go to work? I could make time to study language every day anyway. Just keep looking at those words. But there’s so much else I want to do. And I get used to sitting. I make a habit of stuff that isn’t furthering the way of thinking that I want to cultivate. It’s not that I couldn’t find time to learn Spanish, it’s that I need to cultivate a way of being, and I need to do that all of the time.
That is what I want.