Stifled. I’m feeling stifled for no apparent reason.
The job, henceforth known as the Think Tank, is not turning out to be all I wanted, but neither is it turning into something that is onerous. Life chugs along at a pleasant, undramatic pace, and while writing isn’t all that I want it to be, I’ve rather pleasantly stumbled upon an idea for another novel. The news still frustrates; indeed, things are so bad that we’re seriously contemplating putting next year’s taxes into a trust fund and instead of filing sending the IRS a nice letter that says “When I get full rights, you can have my money. Sue us.” (To put this in perspective, it wasn’t my idea and you know the frustration level is high when a Ph.D candidate economist with 16 years experience in the field suggests opting out of the economy.)
Perhaps it’s simply February, that most horrible of months that is both the shortest in days and the slowest in the passage of time.
Perhaps I need more stimulation. I’m certainly not getting enough shuttling from the job to home to the job to the grocery story and around and around.
But how does someone like me, happily (enough) in a relationship, more than slightly introverted, entirely over the bar scene, and still burned out on volunteering learn to live juicy again? And did I ever do it in the first place?
What were you doing then that you felt enriched your existance that you are not doing at present moment? Did you end up putting some of the hobbies and interests you had on the back burner due to all the stressful stuff that’s going on?
I feel ya, woodstock. Being mired down in the muck of february doesn’t help, but being post-30 and living a quietly happy life seems almost to make things more unbearably boring. Just when you find yourself where you always sought to be, you wonder if it wasn’t more fun to dance every friday night away, gin dribbling down your chin and an array of might-be’s everywhere you look. Greener grass and all that, I think.
was it your blog that recommended reading ‘Resolutions for the Damned” by SFGate columnist Mark Morford? If it was not you, read it. If it was, read it again anyway, then order one of those Jesus-shaped things and mail it to someone in Crawford, Texas with a thank you note signed “George W.”