A couple people whose well being I monitored from a distance died yesterday. Completely unrelated deaths from issues of which I was aware for less than a week (or even only a day). And it’s a bummer.
I’m tired all the time. I feel anxious all the time. I feel like I’m struggling at work even though I don’t know that’s actually the case. Maybe I just feel aimless and unsure of my direction.
But that’s the story of my life.
I’m not happy with the recent election. I’m not happy with having a stalker. I’m not happy with plenty of things.
But, again, that’s the story of my life.
I’m at a crossroads, but instead of a fork dividing one road into two, it’s a goddamn London style roundabout and I’m circling an eternal loop because I’m too indecisive to choose an exit to take.
All things considered, life is good. I’m terrible at expressing that.
It’s agitating to finally make time to blog and feel devoid of anything worthy to say.
This is probably going to be deleted at some point. You know, once I’m posting regularly and have enough content to make this look like the bullshit filler post it is.
I’m listening to Bernadette by the Four Tops. And staring out my window at the Fisher Building, which is on Grand Boulevard, about half a mile away from the Motown Museum, “Hitsville USA,” where the song was recorded.
I drive past history all the time and I’m usually just thinking about getting home so I can fall asleep or play Pokemon Shuffle. It’s not the most fascinating life, but it’s my own.
It won’t let me insert a picture here.
That’s probably a good contender for my autobiography title / epitaph.
I hate that I only feel creative when I’m at work and unable to act on my sudden inspirations. It doesn’t matter how many notes I write down and save for later. I get home, I’m tired. I want to play video games until I pass out.
It’s not that I dislike my job, but it’s certainly not a career.
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