It tires you out, like treading water.
Last weekend was magnificent, Blog, and for just a few days the world was a shiny Christmas bauble, rotating slowly on a pine street, reflecting a cozy fire in the hearth. I wish I could go more into it but I won't because there are some things I just can't write on a public blog. But since then things had been going well and I felt ready to tackle this detox thing, but now I'm discovering there are too many hours in the day and I'm so intensely bored. I put together a terrarium yesterday with Jack. My life seems sterile, like a play I'm acting in, where nothing really matters because it's all pretend and make-believe. I think I need to talk to someone or maybe just get a second job to occupy my time. Maybe things will get better the longer I'm sober, but so far they haven't. So far, I'm just reminded why I drink, because I'm bored, and when I drink, colour seeps back into the world, if only for a little while. Mind you, Blog, I'm not sad, just tired and... well, bored. But it's a weary boredom, not a nothing-to-do boredom so much as a why-bother-doing boredom.
On Tuesday I made a new friend. Anita was supposed to come over this weekend but didn't. Anita, Jay, Jack, Andrew, and I went camping about two weeks ago.
I don't understand how a person can go through all the motions of being happy and still feel so empty. I have a very supportive pair of friends (Jack and Andy), a nice home; I'm financially secure; I have a job I love, a car, hobbies, so on and so forth, but I still feel so hollow, as if you might find a ribbon on me and discovered I'm a laced-up doll with nothing at all inside, cheaply manufactured and inanimate. Last weekend I felt alive. Now I don't again. Sometimes I think I know what's missing and I feel like it's so distant and unattainable I can't do anything but type emo blog posts about it.
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