I went to the bookstore tonight. I flipped through dozens of book jackets - which is what I do every time the world and I cease to get along.
On the days when my mood is blah, when I am not particularly happy but I can’t figure out why, I get lost in the brief synopses of other people’s clever ideas.
Some seem insightful, some banal, but those bite-size glimmers of what might just be genius always make me feel better.
It has been one of those weekends. Not bad but not exceptional either.
Just there. Maybe faulting on the side of glum.
I think I might be loosing touch with reality just a little bit. Writing has skewed my view of the world, of people. I have lost the ability to tell the difference between the good times and the bad because all I see is plot points and story lines.
Everyone and every moment summed up like a cliff noted book jacket.
I am on this endless quest to be intrigued with life and I am too easily bored.
Last night I went to this charity event. It seemed that everyone I was with had caught the malaise. It wasn’t a bad time, just not noteworthy.
I had really thought it would be and I suppose I was a little disappointed when it wasn’t. It was fine but nothing to write home about.
My mind is tired. I think so much - too, too much - and I have a hard time excepting that an uneventful night can be just that, just not all that special.
I look for ways to give it value, make it something. I really have to stop. Sometimes a dull storyline is just that.
It doesn’t all have to be dramatic and exciting....right?
God that just sounds dull.