This one is not about books or anything book related or even all that funny so be warned I'm about to download a bunch of crap onto the blog.
Leave now, I'm really just going to whine. Bad Cindy.
I'm not sure where to start or even if there is a starting point anymore. I think (cause it's completely unclear) that I'm in a serious funk. I have moments of happiness and I definitely feel gratitude for the life I have but there is something eating away in a dark corner of my mind and I'm too afraid to look.
I'm seriously unmotivated to do anything. Just thinking about peeling potatoes for dinner is too much for me and I think I'm starting to look forward to sleeping more than being awake. My brain has stalled - I have a vivid imagination and before falling asleep I usually dream up another world I go to but lately nothing is coming to me (they call that daydreaming, right?). This causes problems because other than going to another world to fall asleep, I have no clue what to do. I end up over thinking things and having discussions that never happen - it's just weird.
Yet, I don't think I'm blue. I'm not weepy or overly upset about anything - okay, maybe I don't want to look that far back into that dark corner of my mind. I've been thinking of going to counselling but I'm afraid it'll force me to take some serious actions that would be far out of my comfort zone.
It's funny how I get mad at those 'high-brow literature' books where the protagonist does nothing to assuage the life they are leading. That they live in this area of unhappiness because they make what I think are stupid choices but then I realize they are making the easy, less painful choice. By not acting towards happiness they hurt no one except themselves and it's like literature has made this acceptable.
Finally I get the concept of art imitating life. There are multitudes of people who make the easy choices, who never hurt anyone or do anything beyond reproach and I guess these are the same people who write the books and what scares me is that I am that protagonist who does nothing, I am that person that I detest or that I think is too stupid to deserve happiness.
I have a Dr. appointment next week - I thought it was this week and I think I got into the mindset that I was going to talk about what's going on with me. Now I have to wait another week and I'm just wondering if I'm wasting time. That every moment I leave whatever it is alone, it'll just grow and get worse.
And yet, I look at my life and I am probably more blessed than most. I just don't have a right to this feeling and I'm praying the Doc has another pill to make it all go away and is that the worst thing to think or what?
Then my friend telling me that I was destined to do nothing and that in five years I would be in the exact same spot has been eating away at me and scaring the piss out of me.
With this load of crap, maybe I'm destined to write some depressing book that'll win a Pulitzer but essentially leave me right where I am.