Heck, I've not been feeling productive for the last couples of weeks. Constant doomscrolling has taken much of my motivation to seek out more media to watch and play, to the point that I'd think that spending lots of time on the computer playing a game for a while feels more productive then rotting myself with constant switch-ups between social medias and such.

So I have to ask myself this, who am I without? What makes a part of an identity is what they do through their habits and hobbies. Someone can be a historian because they value the past and what it says for the present and the future onward. Someone can be a sight-seer because they couldn't forget the time they saw a beautiful panoramic view of a high place or a mountain, and so they travel a lot just to see where Nature gives their greatest works of panorama art. Even as something mundane as someone throwing rocks at things because they like the sensation of witnessing the rock bounce back against their target, knocking against wood.

I can tell people that I am a writer because I loved reading books and writing poems to myself, I can tell people that I'd like to be a game developer because I loved playing games and that I'm getting into coding programs. Those are identities with passion and ambition behind them which upholds it.

Yet, I've not yet gotten back to practicing these skills or engaging in the hobbies that shaped up my dreams, instead, I numb myself with scrolling these platforms for hours and hours. Who is someone who just stays on their phone all day and feel miserable about it?

Its hard to not feel bad and guilty about it because I feel like I am missing out on catching on to my dreams. Getting to a point that whenever I see someone's artwork or some genuinely good writing in here, especially when they uploaded a prolific amount, would make me feel insecure. For the ambitious, procrastination becomes a tantalizing limbo.

It feels like the scene in The Phantom Toolbooth where the main trio, on their way to rescue the Princesses of Rhyme and Reason, encounters a faceless gentleman, who asked them to do this one simple task of placing a tiny thing to the other side. Its been a while since I've read this more-relevant-than-now children's novel, but this scene comes up to my mind a lot of times, and the irony of their situation compared to my dilemma hurts sometimes.

"But why do only unimportant things?" asked Milo, who suddenly remembered how much time he spent each day doing them.
“Think of all the trouble it saves,” the man explained, and his face looked as if he’d be grinning an evil grin—if he could grin at all. “If you only do the easy and useless jobs, you’ll never have to worry about the important ones which are so difficult. You just won’t have the time. For there’s always something to do to keep you from what you really should be doing, and if it weren’t for that dreadful magic staff, you’d never know how much time you were wasting.”

Catching up to unfinished projects feels existentially daunting because, to me, how could it have costed this much micro-moments of touching up something and then leaving it for indefinite breaks on end from doomscrolling as opposed to just spending each amount of time everyday consistently finishing up the project? I wonder how it feels to be a prolific artist.