Floating.

Or to use a different metaphor, losing my bookmark in my life. The past few days I've been noticing that I've lost my place in my life again. Just drifting and floating through the day, letting time wash over me and slip away. Forgetting who I am and where I'm heading.

I've done this for years, so it's easy to recognize. I used to blame these periods in my life on the people near me. Placing the blame for my loss of direction on anyone but me. That's what's different this time… it comes down to me and I know it. I just don't know what to do about it. I know I should find my place and get back to it, but there's a part of me that doesn't want to. I'm sick of that part. Heh. That's how I got to be 26 and wondering where the years went. Floating through my life.

Floating is such a lack of connection to the people, places and things around me. Worst of all a lack of connection with myself. I've been spending days sitting in front of my computer reading Bulletin Boards but not posting to them. I've been reading other people's online journals, but not writing in mine. I've been awake but not alive.

I lost interest in my own life again. I got bored and switched the channel to anything else that caught my attention. Ironic that if I wasn't me, I'd be fascinated by me and my life.

So I guess it's time to dive into the life I've been floating in for the past couple days. There's an OAC literature course sitting on my desk, with projects and essays that I want to write. There's a website called A Place to Fly that needs a new host, some fresh submissions, journals and discussions. There's an apartment that I can play with and make beautiful. These are things I want, not things other people want for me.

All I have to do is take the first step. Play some good music that makes me want to move, and start moving. Get up in the morning and have that shower first thing. One step at a time, baby. That's all it takes.

I just started. Now we come to the end of an entry I've been writing in my head for the past 3 days. It's written. Booja.