Here's a rare evening picture of me, and there's no dream in this post. You see I look much the same in the evening as in the morning. No matter what I do with my day I feel the same when I go to bed. The past number of months have felt like I'm talking through a pillow while being smothered with it.
I went to a party Saturday night -- a very rare thing for me to do, and I had a good time (rare as well), but today I woke up with the same "now what?" feeling that seems to follow everything I do. You're supposed to exercise to feel better, so I exercise, but when I finish, instead of feeling good about exercising, or from the endorphins, I just feel that same old, "now what?"
If it weren't for my own fear of aging, and fear of losing my physical prowess, I doubt I'd exercise at all. Though I have to admit I have a muted sense of accomplishment when I feel able-bodied. It's the same with writing, reading, and drawing. I do enjoy these activities while I'm doing them, but only retain a muted sense of accomplishment, and then feel restless about the quite space of time after the activity. Sometimes I wonder if I acquired an exaggerated sense of life's rewards when I was very young, and that's why I now have trouble exacting and retaining pleasure from life.
Thanks for reading,