Life Sometimes you need to write the truth. Sometimes, you're just existing. Sometimes days just slips past you. You begin at 7am wondering about all the wonderful things you could be doing but somehow by ten o'clock you've eaten granola and watched an episode of Survivors, by eleven you've shopped online, by twelve you read the day's RSS feeds including job search, then lunch, then the last couple of episodes of Survivors (I gasped!) which somehow bleeds into listening to Offenbach's Coppelia suite and reading about Haydn, then a call to the tax office, followed by some Boston Legal by which time, it's dinner time, then it's off to see The Night They Raided Minsky's and then you're sitting at your computer at 11pm and you really wonder if you've spent your day productively.
When I was growing up, my Mum and Dad always made sure that I was busy. I'm an only child and they thought it important probably that I didn't have enough time to ponder the lack of siblings, so I was always doing something, making things, playing games and it's a self sufficiency which has carried through. I don't remember the last time I was bored -- or more specifically slumped somewhere wondering what I could be doing. I can fill my time and do; but boredom is an odd emotion. You can still be doing lots of things, but still feel inherently bored even as you watch the hours of each day ebb away.
I know that to an extent I'm simply finding ways to fill the spaces which wouldn't necessarily be there if I had the responsibilities of most people my age. But I'm 34 years old and I still feel the much the same way I did when I was in my twenties. I know there'll be some who look at that day and ironically wish they had the luxury of time which I feel like I've wasted and I know that there'll be some time in the future when I think about what I've written here and pity this younger(ish) version of me.
I know that some of this dissatisfaction is blogger envy or the newly minted Twitter envy as you watch people who're going out and doing things talk about it in 140 characters and I know that most of them probably having similar feelings as me or else would think me a fool too for having them. Just go out and do something they'll say, you've only yourself to blame and I know if I was allowing comments on this post there'd be some to that effect. I know that too.
This has helped, and I know this is just a temporary condition brought on by post Christmas blues, that I'll feel better in the morning and there are 352 potentially more productive days left before 2010 is upon us and the monolith returns. But sometimes you need to tell the truth so you can see it yourself so that you can have something to refer back to when you're doing something about it. This is it.
Now, I'm off to get over myself.
