Facilely Striding Tomorrow

Help is on the way, but you'll have to stress the will and motivation from behind those eyes. I've triumphed over those forces of slothfulness, leaving myself bored and consumed, with the day's longevity slim to the tangible senses. Strangely but truly, I've been trying to work on my ambition and motivation, as well as self-control, with nothing but my own force, myself, to bury the ominous habits. The mirror only brings the baleful looks of criticism, troubling and away with my wistful attitude. Striding is a good word for what's occuring in me, the self doubt and mutilation is turmoil but not incessantly; yet because we have conscious thoughts against ourselves, so will we have admiration for our accomplishments. Respecting yourself is like trying to see the naunce in a play about spermies reaching a ladies eggs, nothing but awe when confronted with the gestures. Striding is how I move through the day now that nicotine is the enemy. David stated this the best so far: "you must find something that keeps your hands and mind busy." The distractions, reading, walking, hitting, watching, anything, even sleeping, are all within reach as long as you have the ambition or motivation, and to reward you for your strife, a feeling of satisfaction when you lay your head to rest. When you feel the placidity of satisfaction, you'd believe it if you said you could go weeks without a precious something, an addiction or limb; but that feeling is temporary as is the emphemeral time in a day. Once the euphoria subsides, there's a stench left in your ambience, when you awake to the same hanging conundrum, realizing or, rather, noticing the satisfaction you had is replaced with the follies of the day. Drunk on your forgotten follies, follies you'll never forget until you cease, dreaming or distracting them away for convenience. I guess my thoughts get the best of me, and I better stride into the next day on autopilot.