you'll pay an emotional price for your inaction

Recently, I come home from work and dissolve into nothingness. I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling and I wait. I don't know what I'm waiting for - perhaps for the next 12 hours to pass so I can be useful again at my corporate job? Initially, I called my idleness "a much-needed rest;" however, now I'm suspecting it's something closer to a comfortable form of avoidance, anxiety disguised as stillness for all the thing I want but won't show up for. Because I do want things. I want to be a respected artist, I want to have an exhibition, I want to write a book and run a newsletter and change someone's life- I am a person who embarrassingly wants, who wants to clasp these things by the throat. Yet, I lie motionless in bed, reciting these wants like a broken record, as if I can summon them fully formed into my palms. Wanting is not a plan, though. It's not even a start, a beginning towards your goals. Wanting, left to rot without action, curdles into something that poses as ambition but is…