Congestion

This is happening. I'm going to force myself to create a substantial blogpost even though my eyes will soon droop and the energy will ebb from my fingers.

This is a cry for help. I'm not in danger, but I am trapped by unpredictable fatigue that induces time-wasting decisions.
Guess what I did today? Stayed in and watched VHS's.
Guess what I did yesterday? Stayed in and watched DVD's.

Look, Universe, I don't know what you're doing, or what my energy bodies are doing, or what the FUCK my brain is doing, but where is my energy going? I'll learn from it if you'll just tell me, or fix it, or answer some of the dispiriting questions that have been bombarding me lately.
That's IT! Those fucking questions! Those are what's killing me.

"Why do I get out of bed in the morning?"

And so on.

Maybe answers, or CHANGE. That might be it, change. Some fantastic pick-up event out of fucking nowhere.
I can't even play guitar without trailing off in the middle of a song. I can hardly pick myself off of the couch after watching a Julia Roberts movie. I'm afraid to say that my life is uninteresting because that would make me
A. Ungrateful as shit
B. The target of "Be careful what you wish for" situation
And I do not desire to be either of those things.

But WHAT will it TAKE to break free from this pattern? This is stagnation! Frustration!
I'd write a song about it but I'm so emotionally and spiritually constipated right now that I can't even begin to conceive a chorus.

My outlets have been removed, and now I'm exploding but my skin isn't bursting. The pressure is building, and this isn't healthy. This isn't the same blowup-impending feeling I've experienced before, this is different. This is leading to some sort of epiphany or complete and irreversible meltdown. It's like I'm bored, through and through, in my heart and soul and brain and body and I just need to be electrocuted. Maybe I'll go across the street and get someone to smack me upside the head - but that wouldn't answer my religious questions, or satisfy my craving for human contact.

All of this venting is so deeply rooted in the marrow of my ribcage that my face is entirely expressionless as I type this. Noticing that makes me want to laugh, but I'm not laughing. I'm not crying, I'm stone still except for my hands and wrists and arms. This is fucking weird.

Lady Fate. I'm begging you. I don't want to be robotic anymore, breathe some life into me.