I wish I could be as carefree as some people, not giving a shit about anything, really, and just rolling with things as they happen. I’m not built that way. I’ve always been a worrier, a planner, an over-thinker.

Lately, though, I have started feeling detached. I’m at the corner of “too much shit” meets “nothing fucking changes,” to borrow a phrase from a pharmacy commercial. (When I read my sentence again I read it in Chris’s voice. I don’t know that his name is Chris, but it was on Northern Exposure, so he’s Chris, dammit).

So, is detached good? Is that even the right word?

I’ve written here about searching for joy, about learning zen, about relaxing, about letting go (even before Frozen seared the song into our collective psyches). I’ve over-analyzed things, I’ve written journals, I’ve drafted blog entries and emails, I’ve screamed and cried and just sat quietly.

Nothing.

Fucking.

Changes.

Ok, “nothing” is hard to say for sure, because change can be subtle, change can take a long time. So maybe things are changing and I just can’t tell? Or I’m in denial?

We’ll see.

I’m still here. That’s a positive, at least according to the textbook. It seems better than the alternative, although the distinction is getting rather thin.

I need to sign off now.