Let me dare to dig within myself and find that extra pace. I want to be drawn crazily again. Rinsing the abstraction out of my desires until they beckon mindless pursuit. Charged only for the heedless dash that drains the heavy life out of every review process. Weightless consciousness, may I become decisive as a spacewalker - beyond my gravitational worries.
I consent to chase what promises to wear me out. Enough proximity but not too much until, hopefully, eventually, my inspiration turns into stamina. Without excessive review, every action is a fresh action, full of belief in itself.
I am always on the lookout for the possible but unlikely, so that if I do manage to succeed, I can honestly bask in my capture. This, friends, is the difference between happiness delivered by accomplishment and happiness delivered by drugs. Do we tire ourselves out to a state of guilt-free relaxation via exertion or consumption?
I have come to understand something about myself, I have the soul of a working dog. Give me a task to do and convince me that it is worth doing, and I'll do it and be happy. Take away the task or the meaning or both, and I'll sooner tear up my mind's carpet than curl up in a ball on it. Oh, may we avoid destructive internal monologues. Let us trade them all for a chase, even if it begins with our own tail as its first object.