Things have been rough as is normal.

The problem with depression is that it paralyzes you.  I have a routine.  It’s not what you would think of as a routine, because I don’t do things the same time each time in the same way each time.  I have a routine of things that I do.  Whether it’s cooking, cleaning, reading, or running, I do the same things and I have been.  The things that I have added to my repertoire in the ten years can be counted on one hand.   I started this blog.  I started attending an exercise class last spring at the local Y, and I started running seven years ago.  That’s it.  That’s the list.  Before that it was kids.  I’ve been doing the same things over and over and over again and I don’t ever do anything different.

The things I keep intending to do?  That could take a while:  Learn Japanese.  Learn Greek.  Learn how to play guitar.  Build furniture.  Write a novel.  Write a non-fiction book.  Learn how to bake bread.  You get the picture.  And quite honestly, that was just about 20 seconds of composing a list without even thinking too hard.

I’m stuck in a rut and have been for a long time.  I don’t do well with change.  I don’t like the uncertainty.  But at the same time, it becomes a source of sadness.  If I just chose to apply myself to one thing, what could I do?  But I don’t.  I sit on my ass day in, day out, not changing, not doing anything.  I don’t even have any hobbies any more.  I just exist.

Do I?  If I think and therefore I am, does the nature of thought determine the nature of my existence?  There isn’t much to my thought, as you can see from what I put in this blog, so there isn’t much to my existence.  I am contemplative, so maybe that puts me just above the rutting animal, but there isn’t really much to me.  I don’t look forward to any thing.  I just know that when I close my eyes tonight, I will open them tomorrow morning and it will be another day in which to exist, doing the same things.  I don’t do anything, just really the minimum to survive, as though somehow that justifies my continuation.  It’s hard for me to argue for me.  There is nothing.


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