|Work in progress!|
Well, I've determined that my major problem with finishing anything at all, period, is that I lack stamina to complete things. It doesn't matter if I love the thing. Doesn't matter if it makes me happy. It simply doesn't matter. I just don't have that kind of stamina.
If it's not a short story, I don't finish reading it anymore. I can't commit to novel length books anymore. I lose interest, and flit to the next thing. For shame. Even if it's good! The last book I attempted was The Fountainhead, and I suppose I must have figured out the main points and message of it about half-way through. And really, what's the point of finishing it?
I've taken to writing fan-fiction. It's embarrassing, so I won't be publishing it (at least, not here). But yeah, I can't even complete a chapter, and it makes me feel really guilty about it. Not that anyone will be reading it, or anything. But it's the principle of the thing. What's really funny is that I'll think ahead about the eventual plot points I want to touch on, and end up writing little excerpts of Plot Line Yet To Be. Of course, with the intention of integrating it. If I make it that far. Likely I won't.
And well, there's the scores and scores of uncompleted drawings in my scraps that I may or may not ever return to. There's my Pathfinder campaign too. My website. My blogs.
And then there's Real Life itself. I've got my degree, but what in hell am I doing with it? I'll get all excited about what I can do with it, but never really enough to do important things like, I dunno, get my resume together and contact employment agencies and whatnot. And there's that slight issue of massive debt that will eventually need to be paid off... yeah, that's kinda scary. But scary just doesn't motivate me anymore.
It feels like my life is full of friction. Resistance. From somewhere, towards any kind of forward movement whatsoever. I can get rolling for short periods, and feel really motivated and driven, but I just lose steam along the way. Perhaps part of me expects some sort of instant gratification and is getting tired of waiting for things to finally fucking pay off.
Which, of course, makes sense. I'm coming up on 30 soon. I've spent most of my life in school, in some way, shape, form, or fashion. And I've yet to have anything particularly fulfilling or tangible to get from it. 12 years of grade school, 4 years undergrad, 5 years in medical school (2 half years, plus 3, makes five, total sense). 21 years? And counting, if I get my damned residency. So plus 3, at least. Assuming I don't go for a fellowship. 24 years+ until I can finally fucking start practicing? Well, damn.
And for all this fucking self-awareness, I can't seem to actually change any of it. Sigh.