Last night, the omniscient God that is Horoscope.com told me, in no uncertain words, my Monday was going to blow. This morning, I woke myself by falling out of bed, literally.
It get’s better.
Frustrated by the recent resurgence of insomnia in my life, that adds colour to my clothes via spilt coffee and a jittery hand, but subtracts it from my face, under-eye circles don’t count, *they’re black,* last night I found luck in the oldest form of hibernation learnt as a wee girl: Crying.
Opportunity cost: ‘Did a bee sting your eyes lids?’-syndrome, come morning.
Scaring the shit out of myself via a chance encounter with my closet mirror whilst peeling my discombobulated shell of existence off the ground, got me thinking about the all too common, but rarely overanalysed, opportunity cost.
I may have mentioned I’d recently embraced the workaholic in me, being constantly surrounded by inspiration and positive vibes @Amplify.la. Given this new gigantic pool of positive influences linked to other groups of interesting kids/events/dinners/coffees/10 minute chats gone long/etc., I’ve opened up flood gates to the temptress of temptress’s: a social diary that never ends.
I place a magnifying glass on this topic, only because I feel like I’m failing miserably at identifying the happy medium and / or understanding what it is I want, who’s to be trusted, or exactly what is the trade off I seem to be recklessly giving over to?
Recent hints of the #goodlife, forgoing a late night at the office in lieu of enjoying the company of your favourite Dev Boy over Hama Sushi Crab Rolls 3 nights a week, or a simple late night stroll with new found friends collecting sour kids and 55 scratch cards from local petrol stations are all good and well… but is their currency greater than my long term goals and the potential of success/benefits to come? I’m digging deep to recall if there was an amortisation schedule for opportunity costs? #eyescrossed Even so, my mid/long term memory seems to decrease accordingly in direct proportion to the increasingly large amount of Champers drank at Sunday Brunch. And again…opportunity costs.
At the end of the day, long term goals, (staying fastidiously focused) would seem to take precedence, but are somewhat impossible without entertaining a few short term goals, (distractions) in order to stay sane – is what I’m thinking. Paradoxically, there’s always a lifeless, numbing boat trip back to the ‘every man’s an island,’ school of thought; where crying oneself to sleep and bee stung eyes are the norm. #cute
In closing, anyone who knows my love for scratch cards would bet I’d never side with an environment where opportunistic currency matters not. Between scarcity and choice… at the bare minimum, I choose opportunity – costs will always level themselves out.