Random Musings and Dark Broodings

     A life without passion isn't truly a life, is it?  What's the point of going through this world if the best we can get is mundane?  What am I passionate about?  Why do I get up every morning?  What's the point?  These questions have been rolling around in my head for a few weeks now (hence the lack of posts).  I could blame it on the New Year bringing to light all the things I didn't do that I set out to accomplish in 2011, or I could just say that I'm a Cancer and the Moon is in line with Mars and that's causing my angst of late, but that's all a bunch of bull shit.  Lately I've just been so blah.  I realize that's not a word, but it's so very accurate.  Who am I?  More importantly, who do I want to be?

    My mom gave me the book Julie & Julia for Christmas, and I feel like I'm reading a book about my own life.  In the opening chapter, Julie Powell talks about watching a woman have a mental breakdown in the subway, and she's forced to realize that the only difference between the woman banging her head on the concrete and herself is that she's afraid of public embarrassment, and she didn't want to get dirty.  As she put it, "Performance anxiety and a dry-cleaning bill; those were the only things keeping me from stark raving lunacy."  

   I think what's struck me the most in reading this book is that I feel like I shouldn't be reading a book like this.  I should be writing a book like this.  Isn't that what I always dreamed of?  And is this woman's life really any different than mine?  When I read Eat, Pray, Love, did I not swear to myself that this would be the last time I read a book and think, "Man, I've said those same exact words before"?  And now here's another one!

    I think more than anything, I'm simply disgusted with myself for not doing anything.  I used to be so focused.  I wanted to go to school and be something, and now I can hardly muster up the will to get out of bed.  Don't misunderstand me,  I'm not suicidal.  I love my daughter to the moon and back.  I am happy with my husband.  I am content with our home, but (at the risk of sounding whinier and whinier by the moment) what about me?   What do I want out of life?  

    Even my fortune cookies have turned against me it seems.  "You can only be happy when in the pursuit of a goal."  Thanks a bunch oh wise, stale, tasteless cookie.  Now would you mind spouting out a few goals that would be perfect for me?  

    It should come as no surprise then that these random musings and dark broodings have led me ask myself "What do you want to be when you grow up?".  A nurse?  A teacher?  An engineer?  Any of these things would be fine.  I've always said, after all, that I would be perfectly happy in any position.  "My career will not define my happiness," I believe were my exact words, but I think it's become clear to me that I don't want to be stuck in a position of no value.  

    So, where do I go from here?  Do I just pick something and throw myself into it?  Actually, that doesn't sound half bad.  The problem is finding something to throw myself into.  How about a moving train?  (Just kidding.)