Well, I wrote my story. Not the story of me, but the story I wanted to write since last week. I think I’m going to sit on it for a day or two and make some edits. It’s close, but I need to flesh it out and remove/reword a few things. Unlike most of my stories, this one is meant to be shared and I won’t rest until I do. However, I don’t want to just throw it out there and then realize I could have made it better.
In other news, I appreciate everyone who reads this blog. I’ll be honest though, my heart’s not really in it lately. I’m not saying I’m going to shut it down, but it may be a while before I get back to posting anything worth reading on a daily basis. I’m still going through the usual stuff, but I’m having a hard time feeling like it’s all just futile. I feel like I’ve got too many balls in the air and juggling them only delays the inevitable.
I know it’s just temporary, but I just want to get away for a while. I don’t even know what that looks like. But just to get out from under the oppressing shadow of it all. To let go of the baggage and take the mask off for a bit. That’s not really an option though, so it’s one painful foot in front of the other, day in, day out. Go to work, come home, pretend I’m a good employee, a good husband, a good father. Pretend I’m happy. Pretend I’m okay.
I’m tired. I’m tired of pretending I’m not tired.