I dunno. I just never seem to feel very happy these days. I'm always tired.
I look at my bulging gut and I think "I really should exercise... maybe tomorrow."
I feel like I'm mired in the muck, but by the same token laying around in the muck appeals to my lazy side, my lazy nature.
I need to make something of myself. But I say that and I feel no conviction behind it.
Maybe I just need to be happy with where I am, and then work from there?
To expand on this a little:
I'm not depressed in the sense that I'd think of doing anything bad to myself.
I'm just kind of in that place in life where I'm in my little raft in the middle of the ocean and I'm kind of wishing I had an outboard motor, because my little paddle sucks pretty hard.
Hell, I wouldn't mind seeing the shore, even.
That's the thing, though. The shore represents some sort of goal. I guess I do have a goal, and that's to get laid, or less coarsely to find a mate to live my life with. This is a natural animal urge and I can't disagree with it.
But I get in a contemplative mood and I think - y'know.. that might be all there is to life. Get laid. Have kids. Earn enough money so that they can get on the treadmill and pop out some more humans.
I guess my point is that I occasionally think about writing the great American novel, not only as a new job and source of income, but also to be able to mark my existence on this Earth we call home.
Well, two points. The other one is that I feel kind of crappy more often than not lately.