Fuzzy Headed

It's not one of those instances when I'm thinking "Surely it was just yesterday that I was heading off to Atlanta?!" Right now I'm reasonably sure that I made that wonderful, hot, humid, soul-feeding trip sometime last year. And I'd also lay money down, convinced that the world has converted to a six-day working week.

But I have a feeling that's just my company.

I feel like I have so much more to say about the grey-tinted glasses that are obviously impeding my view of the world right now. I tell myself that if things weren't quite so grey, there would be paragraphs of eloquent prose discussing my current funk, an attainable work-life balance, plans for the future, visions of how life could be and how I could get there.

But the fog just keeps closing in, and I'm losing the ability to see even the plain and dismal.

I want to feel passionate about something again, and not just a passionate hatred.

And right when I can't take it any more I'm reminded of how things could be worse. How there are people suffering in much more vivid ways than my self-indulgent mope. That some people don't have the ability to get themselves out of the headspace I'm in. And then I get annoyed with myself. And then I get annoyed with myself getting annoyed with myself because even if my problems are completely first-world, middle class, white-collar problems, they are still mine and what's the point of being here if I don't listen to myself?

And then I think I should think less and just get back to work.