The Gray

I am in a gray hole of apathy. No, I haven't gone all goth; I couldn't think of a better way of describing my state of mind. It's not quite a black hole of despair, but it certainly isn't all sunshine and unicorns.

This happens to me fairly frequently. Yes, it's monthly and, no, it isn't a premenstrual thing. In case anyone wants to mark the calendar, I am post-menstrual. Either that, or I spend most of the month premenstrual.

OK, enough about my cycle. The reason I decided to write about my grayness is because there isn't any apparent cause. While I have recently realized that I hate my job; I'm usually fairly good at separating work shit from the rest of my life. I may bitch about work when I'm not there, but I'm not usually actively angry when I do. As for the rest of my life; it's fine. I'm not any broker than usual, my cats are fine, I'm not sick, and aside from the passing of my great-aunt, my family is also fine.

I'm thinking that I can attribute the grayness to a lack of passion in my life. Not just the passion that is associated with love/sex, but the passion that comes from being interested in things/ideas. Let's face it: I don't do a whole lot. I read, I watch TV, and I eat bacon. I do the internet thing and I talk to my friends on a semi-regular basis. I'm definitely not knocking my friends, but we don't do much. Which is fine. I'm not relying on my friends to provide me with passion and excitement.

Are you shaking your head and thinking, "Silly girl. Why is she complaining? People are suffering. Children don't have enough food, people are being killed for shiny rocks, the economy is in the toilet and China makes everything. She thinks a lack of passion is a big deal?" Well yes, yes I do. Just because I'm not dealing with life-threatening illness, or complete economic collapse, or - or whatever, doesn't mean that what I'm dealing with doesn't suck. 'Cause it does suck; it sucks for me.

I am grateful that I have a job and a home and pets that allow me to pet them right after I feed them. I'm grateful that my parents love me and I have the wherewithal to buy bacon. I'm not looking for someone to come along and completely change my life. I don't want to be famous (infamous is another story) and I don't want to be the secret lost child of someone famous. I really just want to feel that life isn't all about nothing.

I've been thinking about the purpose of life a lot lately. It's nothing especially ground-breaking or coherent, but the thoughts are there. Back in the day (yeah, then), people were all about survival and procreation. If you didn't spend all day looking for food you would die. If you didn't spawn your line would die out. (That could lead me into a whole other line of think about why the hell humans find it so effing important to continue their line. Maybe another post.) While survival is still part of the plan, it seems like life is more about things. I'm not going to go off on a rant about materialism and rampant consumerism, but I still see it. You work to have a place to live, to buy food, to buy stuff. Some people are in a position where their job makes them happy and the fact that they get paid - well, that's just gravy. Maybe those people need fewer things. Maybe it's the cubicle drones, the "I didn't want to be a lawyer but my dad wouldn't pay for art school", the undereducated, who need things. Then again, maybe it isn't. Maybe those people have things outside of work that make them happy; things that they are passionate about. I'd hate to be guilty of defining people by their jobs. It's bad enough that people are still often defined by appearances.

Point? I don't know. I guess my point is that I've got to get up off my ass and find my passion(s). I don't like being in the gray and I know I'm not tons of fun to be around when I am. It would be nice if my brain hadn't evolved and I could be all reptile-like. You know, basking on rocks, eating bugs, etc. Or maybe it'd be great if I could turn off the fucking neurochemicals that make me sad for NO APPARENT REASON. That is all.