I don't even know why I'm writing at all. And I notice you aren't either. Is this Spring? Do I feel this crawl of endless stuff-to-be-done winding itself around my proliferating To-Do lists until it chokes me?
I gave up being depressed a while ago. Well, I think I did, but what do I know. Now I just get blahs. Nothing seems to lift me out of it. Even a good intense rehearsal of the play's music tonight. Or a lovely prize from just entering Laurie's rah-rah Minnesota Readers' Choice Award (a real official-like press bag with matching mug and offical-like reporter's notebook, since you asked). And yes, she won for her book, Yay Laurie!
Even cheery notes from family members missing me at a family picnic fail to disperse the bluesy blahs.
I look around me and I always want to be doing something else. I feel such a need to write, to edit, to just BE and all I get are emails or phonecalls always wanting something from me. I am surrounded by files, by tax returns and even the census to complete and it all seems to be too much. I feel my spirit has raced away from me and I'm just too darned tired to catch up to it.
I know many would trade my life for theirs but thinking that doesn't help MY blahs. Not one bit.
It could be the world, right? Shaky little planet and shady people running it. I think this low level blah thing is affecting many, many people.
Change, she's a comin' round the corner. And I don't think she's going to be good to any of us.
There be dragons, b'y.
