I know that it has been a few weeks since I last updated, but I have not felt the impulse to write in some time, not even really right now, to be honest.  But I do because I make myself.  I still feel undeniably empty.  Each time I start a sentence, I read it, then reread it, and then promptly erase it (which is not going to get me anywhere).  I sigh, I gaze into nothing, and I feel a terrific weight burdening my body, anchoring it down to the ground.  These past few weeks, I have had a wandering mind.  I’ve been day dreaming, pondering, and contemplating.  I can’t exactly say the reason for my pensive mood, but I feel mentally restless (surprise, surprise).

At the same time, I am finding it increasingly more focus on any one task.  I have to admit that I feel like I am looking for something that I cannot identify, drifting from here to there in aimless and perpetual  circles.

I don’t know why.

I’ve just reread what I’ve wrote.  I’m not very satisfied with it, nor am I pleased with how many times I use the word “I.”  It sounds rather self absorbed, doesn’t it?  But for now, it will have to do.

In all honesty, I cannot say that anything is direly wrong or missing from my life.  I just feel… depleted.  Not even sad, per se.  Just depleted of energy and emotion.  And I can’t help but wonder if this state resembles anything close to normalcy.  Probably not.

It makes me feel guilty and ungrateful for not being capable to appreciate everything that I have in my life.  I hope and long for something to ignite me, to re-spark something, to feel active and engaged and happy about something.  But after looking deep inside of myself, I come up empty-handed.  In the words of Lewis Carroll, “You used to be much more…”muchier.” You’ve lost your muchness.”

It’s exhausting to live in your own head.  I need a change of some sort.  What it is and where it ought to come from, I have no idea.  But feeling like this is simply exhausting and unsustainable.

The end.