damning lucidity

My incessant indolence and abulic nature of mind and body often hide behind a facade of unwavering diffidence. How can a mind so feeble, unable, yet rather active, thrive or dare to change? Am I to move forward willingly, cognizant of my flaws, yet without the willpower to amend them? Alas, I have arrived again at an old clarity: thought can be circular and still feel like progress. The mind, at times, becomes an anchor to transformation, lifting only briefly to offer the illusion of ascent. And so I stand, Sisyphean, before steep aspirations and heavy feet.