Today is one of the days where I kneel humbled by my grief. I am not bowled over by it, I am not stressed about it, I am simply shaken by it.
I jumped into the uber, politely asked how my driver was doing, and after exchanging pleasantries, he asked me what year I was in.
“Third year.” I said with a polite smile.
Life is good, and I’m enjoying every second of it!
Whether we mean it or not, productivity is charged with a complex definition; what you produce has to be something we can measure against society’s standards, and it has to be useful.
Motivation feels like a flying bird: in your eye line for a second, and then gone forever more.
It started grating on me so much, that I felt irrationally angry whenever I had my lamp on and realised that the Feeble Light was still on, doing his best to grace me with his presence. Yet, he was so dim I did not idea he was there.
Today, I feel successful. I woke up feeling energised, I woke up excited for my day. I made a very student lunch (chicken steak and barbecue sandwich), helped myself to a black coffee.