Home Alone

Well I had the house to myself this morning, so last night's little problem has been happily corrected.

Which puts me in a MUCH much much better mood :)

However, it ate up alot of my morning!  So now I need to try to get a bunch of undesireable stuff done (i.e. calls to creditors, banks, lenders, etc...)  before i leave for my new job!

All I want to do is savor the relaxation i earned...

Ah well.  C'est la Vie. right?  The afterglow can only last so long.

And here's the other thing that's on my mind, as long as I'm stalling and putting of the business of my business.

I write almost every single day.  honestly.  I write it and I enjoy the process and I dig how it makes me feel, but lately i've begun to wonder, in part, why the hell I'm doing it?  is this a hobby other people have?  I honestly don't expect anything to come of these sordid little scandals, these cute little love stories, the scinitllating secrets.  So why keep going?  I'm not courageous enough to share my stuff with the world, just with a few close friends, so, I ask myself, is there any point at all to it?

I guess it's a creative outlet.  And it is enjoyable for me.  But maybe I should channel all this energy into something more productive?  Or something that has some kind of future?

Meh. 

I really have no conclusions drawn on the matter, just airing my concerns, putting them out there.  And who knows?  Maybe I will finally achieve an ending that ties all these story threads together and will be able to close this chapter of my life and maybe seek to pull it into some kind of order and look into publishing.  Seems a long way off, but we'll see, I guess.

Thirdly;  I'm doing that thing I do when i am in a spiral of self loathing-- I'm pulling away from my freinds and de-volving into a hermit.  Not a good thing.  I've done it before.  Just plain given up on firendships outside of aaron and even avoid family as much as humanly possible, and just try to make the rest of the world disappear. 

I hope I can snap out of that real quick.  It's a lonely, insular place to be.

And it always means loads of regret.