Day 2, still no title

I have no idea how to write about a “normal life.” I wasn’t raised “normally” and when I write about anything it’s either an intensely fascinating topic that everyone wants to talk about, or a HELLA DEPRESSING story about my life that no one in their right mind should want to hear unless they are my therapist.

I suppose outwardly I am fairly normal, despite all the black clothes I wear, and a day-to-day review of my life reveals that I am actually rather boring. Unless I’ve been drinking, then I am both boring and flirty (fear me!).

I have this day!job, and I have my writing, and sometimes I draw. It’s odd how my world has condensed down to those factors, above all others. I do those things, and little else, and if my day!job were not in a building that is not my apartment I doubt I would go outside much at all. I think my life has been a progressive creep towards reclusiveness since my early 30s, to be honest. I did not understand people then, and now that I have a much better understanding of people due to the simple trump card of experience, I find myself pleased that I can keep my distance. I do not particularly fear being a recluse, but unlike the accusations of some friends, I don’t welcome it either. I simply think it is a phase like so many others. It might pass. It might not.

The bigger question is, what am I doing in the meantime? I’ve been haunted since I was a child by the axiom “life is what happens when you are busy making other plans” and so, I think, my lack of planning reflects a desire to actually live life fully. Which I’ve rarely done, anyway.

So yeah, I’m pretty boring. Is this a call to change, or a Buddhist-like acceptance of what is my present moment?