Imbolc came and went without any fanfare. This job thing is really getting in the way of my spiritual life. I realized I need to start making time on my own but I feel so … drained. Uninspired. Disconnected. Floating. Spinning. Away.
The job is going ok. Not fab, nor horrid. The days are long. I sit in a dark room watching unintelligent movies. Occasionally I get up just to walk outside just to make sure Sun and Light still exist. Otherwise the transports tend to be long but I’m getting the hang of it again. I’m reading some books when the dreaded TV is off. First I read Michael Tolliver Lives the last in the Tales in the City series. Right now I’m reading Birth: The Surprising History of How We’re Born. Michael Tolliver was good. Birth is scary.
My social life is alright. I still would like some more contact with friends and relatives but it’s winter so. So. So.
Everything is just plodding along. Sun comes up and goes down. The day starts and it ends. There’s nothing to write home about really.