There's nothing that bothers me more, than having nothing to do... maybe it is driven into my by society, maybe by my own doing. I have an obsession with productivity: the tools, the methods, the topics, the outputs, everything.

I think like this: In 200 years, you will be remembered by what you did; rarely by who you were. It's a cold, cruel thought that no one will ever remember you as a great hugger, a warm conversationalist, or a wonderful Scrabble partner. No one knows how nice Eli Whitney was, except that he invented the Cotton Gin.

You are measured as a some of your accomplishments. I don't meditate on my visage being carved into stone for coding incessantly in my life, nor does every breath remind me of my inevitable last. Why am I so obsessed with my accomplishments and this busy state that people would claim to be insane?

Some people get lost in their work, and it draws them away from their world. People become workaholics, and their need for business drives them to excel. A workaholic can be cold and calculating, a person pushed by this notion to be busy...A productive individual can become their work, something that destroys that sense of self, and that sense of a piece of the whole... you become less that that peice.

Maybe I'ts just because I'm on the inside, but busy for me is connected. Moving is life... like a shark, those who stand still die. Always moving, not always physically but mostly mentally. My showers, filled with the physical pleasure of the water meld with the emotional pleasures of a moving mind... ideas, feelings, works, productions, new ventures, problems solved.

Ideas always filling my head, faster than a pen or a keyboard can take them down... A museum, solely for my exibition. I always have to have something to do, or something to work on... if nothing more than a back burner project forever. Something that when all is said and done, I will have something to remember the days by; a trophy of my own handiwork. A vacation is just a change of mental topic away.

Because I always feel the need to be busy, I live in a weird paradigm: I avoid sloth like the plague, but oftentimes with things that are of little importance; mere intellectual curiosities. My time is filled always with my own intellectual stimulation.

In the end a life is well-lived if the person feels they have done what they set out to do. I enjoy the journey as much as the destination, as for me, they are one and the same. I could walk a million years and never have explored all of what my imagination has to show, and for that I'm happy. But I'd like to visit as much as possible while I'm here...

Even if nothing than in my own mind, I've always got to be busy.

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