I used to know what I wanted. I wanted a new house. A new location. To be thinner, happier, a famous writer, go back to Italy for a week, hike in the woods. On and on. I was thinking the other day, though, even though there are things, like having dessert at a diner, that I consider to be honest with myself, I really do not know what I want anymore. Okay, let me qualify that. I know that I want my children healthy and well, safe and content. I want that for them. But this whole Alice in Wonderland, down the rabbit hole trip that I've been on has really just sucked out all desire for me. I really did plan on looking for a new house, I even started packing some things up, but even that has become less of a driving force, especially when I try to tackle ALL of the stuff that I have accumulated throughout the years. I pack up a few things and look around and feel so overwhelmed by the daunting task of separating what to keep and what to get rid of that, I get discouraged and walk away from it. The everyday routine of getting up, going to work, coming home, playing with the dogs and going to bed is so monotonous to me, yet, there is kind of a heavy comfort to it too.
Ugh. It this the effect of overwhelming stress and worry? Have I become so used to the falling that I don't even care to reach out and grab onto something anymore? That's what it feels like. I'm not complaining, I'm just stating a fact. I'm not even sure if I don't like this feeling. I'm really not sure what I'm feeling. I'm not happy or sad or afraid. I am gliding in neutral.