I've hit a rut. A big, fat, super-wide rut. I think it has a lot to do with the sudden bleakness of the world as well as the ungodly drop in the daily average temperature. That and I do believe I may has post-wedding-traumatic disorder. If that is such a thing. Instead of thinking about dresses and food and music my life has been catapulted into an endless stream of bills and blahs. BLAH.
Maybe I was a Gypsy in a past life, every year about this time I'd like nothing better than to pack a bag and run away. No note, no postcards, no plans, no destination. Just anywhere but here. What is that? Is that normal? Am I having a not quite, but almost, midlife crisis? "Oh God, could it be the wheather? Oh God, why am I here?"
Do you know what I'm talking about? That empty, gnawing in the bottom of your soul-like somehow, even though you don't know what it is, you expected so much more than this? But what? I don't know. I haven't got the faintest idea of what "it" I am missing, all I know is that it is breaking my heart having to live without it.
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