I don’t really feel like doing anything today. Even this blog was a chore. I almost just typed blah and saved it at that. Today is one of those days where I take mental stock of my situation and blah is the best I can come up with.

It’s better in most ways than it was before my move, but in many ways it’s unchanged. Sure, I’m not suffering in a 100° F bedroom all alone. This bedroom is an ideal cool temperature. I’m still laying on my bed, unmotivated to walk two steps to my desk and start on the computer work I need to accomplish. 

I’m still poor, waiting for money to arrive by mail. I have more food here, and dinners are often prepared and served with family. It’s a pretty good life, but I’m still me living it, and that’s where the paradise fails a bit. 

This luxury comes with my standard guilt. I’m not pulling my weight with house chores or family farm duties. I just exist in my room costing money offer no value in return. No matter how often I am reassured is not the case, it clearly is the case and I’m not doing anything about it except sulking and blogging about it.

Blah.

Related posts:

Flip Flopping isn’t a bad thing. Jan 27. Pre-worry has begun The boy in the box Why do I make plans?