Day #14

It's Christmas eve...and I feel directionless. Not lost - I know where I am - just not sure where I'm going. Or why. I don't remember despair being one of the stages of grief, but I am seriously questioning what the point is to all of this is. It seems so meaningless right now. Kind of like saying "whatever" to life's more existential questions: don't know and pretty sure I don't care. 

If I could get away with it, I think I'd be ok riding out my days someplace warm by the ocean or maybe on a snow-capped mountain. I don't think I would need much - just the open air, a nice view, and some place clean and comfortable to sleep at night and shelter inside when the weather is crappy - but that's probably wishful thinking. It's easy to romanticize something that I've never experienced - living in relative isolation - but, if I layer on top of this daydream who I am the dream quickly falls apart. I'd get bored, then cranky and irritable, and, eventually, insufferable.  

I was told early on not to make any rash decisions. This is good counsel. My mind is free-wheeling a lot right now and seems to have the same response to every thought: "That's brilliant. We should definitely do THAT." It's only later, after the benefit of some time, that I see the absurdity. And yet the urge to fade away, to just disappear (i.e., quit my job, sell the house and everything in it, throw away my cell phone, etc., etc.) doesn't go away. It just changes in volume. Some days are louder than others. Today, it's at 11. 

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