On Being Numb

Once again, I’m finding myself fairly numb. Perhaps it’s my age, perhaps the grind of work (or the semi-grind of it). Not excited to get up, although it is far better than December.

It’s really the rather endless nature of it all more than anything. All days seem the same, with no beginning and no end. Small, incremental changes, aging, growing kids - but nothing right now shows any of the mile markers of life.

I suppose that I shouldn’t complain - those mile markers can be either good or bad. Hanging on to the middle - the neither good nor bad - probably does create this rather frameless world where one can simply float, from day to day, from week to week, from year to year.

It is time to start something, but I’m afraid to jump. Like most of my life, I have been in a situation where the status quo is good enough to live comfortably, but never enough to be fully happy. Too good to risk it all, though. Consistently too good to risk it all.

I suppose that is the cause of upper class malaise - something which I am definitely suffering from. It’s not a struggle to survive, just a long, relatively formless and boring march. That’s the problem, I suppose.