On Intelligence

I've been very restless lately. Looking at how I spent my time against how I want to, all the things I want to be able to do and can't, all the forgotten dreams I had as a kid. I sorted through my old room at my dad's place and found various old toys and memories from childhood. It all felt so easy, breezing through the maths classes and needing but not wanting more, everything I didn't do because nobody could tell me where to start. The "gifted" kid. It's years later now. Almost nothing scratches the itch for thought in my brain. All the ego and none of the talent, nothing comes easy. Stubborn denial that i'm not innately intelligent. I do find things that half occupy me for fleeting moments: computers, games, language. But it feels so fickle. I know people who breeze through it all, things I pride myself in knowing and they know more, things I pride myself in doing and they do better. I know i'm not mediocre, but i'm not great. It's a recurring thing for me it seems. Learn a little and feel like i've learnt a lot. Lots of time spent pretending, more watching than doing or learning. Don't want to play so I don't lose. Keep the sense of self worth I have for something i've barely done.
Envy of those who do, envy of those who think.
I don't seem to do either anymore.