Blah

Yup, that's right. Blah. It's how I feel.

Last night I had one of those big emotional breakdowns that we all have occasionally. I know that some of my dear readers are prone to these breakdown, too - some of you even call me in the midst of them - so that's why I don't feel bad admitting this. But it feels self-indulgent, you know? It's not fair for me to keep Tim awake late into the night while I thrash around, trying to figure out Why I'm Here and What Does My Life Mean Anyway and blahblahblah. Poor Tim. Poor, dear, patient Tim. He's even more tolerant than my cat ... and that is seriously saying something, people.

Speaking of Millie, here's some further proof that she is super laid back. Today a couple men came to the house to install our new over-the-range microwave/vent hood (yay!). These were two total strangers. They rang the doorbell. They walked into the house, smelling of strange smells & talking with strange voices. And did the cat get spooked? Not in the least. She continued to lounge lazily on the living room rug. I picked her up & put her in our bedroom so she wouldn't get upset. I don't know why I bothered, though, seeing as this is the same animal who will rub against my legs while I'm playing high Fs & Gs on my flute. Amazing. Millie is an animal that does not sweat the small stuff. I could learn a lot from her.

But here I am, sweating anyway. I think my problem is that I don't feel passionate about anything anymore. I used to feel an inner drive to do certain things - theatre, for instance - but that drive is gone now. I don't want to knit or sew or do anything crafty. I don't even feel the urge to see what plays are showing each week, let alone audition for any. I spend a lot of time on-line looking at art & interior design blogs, but I don't have the money to do what I want to the house. Generally I feel perfectly content just poking about on the internet & listening to my cat snore. But what kind of life is that? That's pathetic. I may seem content on the surface, but deep down I know that something is missing. I just wish I knew what it was.

You know what I'm doing? I'm making buttprints in the sands of time again. Bah. But how can I change that when I don't feel compelled to do anything else?

Anyway. Blah.