IS MY HOUR UP ALREADY?

Remember in the movie Grand Canyon when Mack and Simon met and they were talking aboot how they felt to behold the canyon? One of them commented that he felt "like a gnat that lands on the ass of a cow... chewing its cud next to the road that you ride by on at (somethingty-something) miles an hour. "

You ever feel completely small? Insignificant? Like if you fell off the edge of the world tomorrow it might be weeks before anyone thought to send out a search party? Sure you have. (Don't make me feel all alone in my wallowing.)

As I sit here mindlessly finishing off the bottom layer of a Whitman's Sampler, I'm thinking how I might enjoy a Do Over. Man, would I. Damn, that chocolate truffle was tasty. Why can't there be a secret third layer of just those babies? I think I might set a precedent for utilizing every possible opportunity for doing over. (That was supposed to give the impression that I would use it to the full extent.)

I had always intended to do something with my life that would leave some kind of mark behind when I left. I'm not seeing that I've come even close to accomplishing that. I'm not seeing that I've even changed the world in any way. I have spent so much time trying just to keep up with this life I've created, there hasn't been time left over for any extra stuff. I might think aboot rephrasing that, I don't feel as if I've created my life. I feel more like I inherited it or that it was assigned to me or something. It's sure not anywhere near what I would have chosen for myself.
Please, don't get me wrong, there are a ton of good things aboot my life, things that I wouldn't change if I had the chance. It's just that things have just fallen a bit short of my expectations. I take full blame/credit. I've been less than ardent in my endeavors to build the life I'd dreamed of.

This is what it feels like. Imagine a writer creating a character for a story. The writer gives this character the characteristics and personality that he wishes, to suit the story the writer choses to tell. The character is fictional so cannot possibly be as well-developed and multi-faceted as an actual person. He can only have the characteristics the writer bestows upon him. This is where I come in. I feel like an actress playing the role of me. I can only be the person that the writer has created, as full or well-developed as that might be. But as far as rounding me out, to a full-fledged real, live personna, I've lost my ability to improvise. I know there are tons of parts of me that could be drawn out and developed but I don't have the energy anymore or the tools to do it. And yet I'm unsatisfied with how I've ended up. Maybe not just too tired to explore, maybe too lazy. Wait no, not lazy- not motivated. Sure, I want to be everything I can be, but who else would care??? So why bother, I guess, is what I'm saying. I dunno. Lately my mind has been going in some weird, unchartered places. I hardly know what I think aboot anything anymore. Could explain why I've been so tired. Been on the road alot in my head.

I always wanted to be one of those people who seemed perfectly satisfied just to be. Just to be. That was never nearly enough for me. And it never will be. There are times when I want to jump out of my skin just to get somewhere else, to experience something new. But lately, ah.
Those feelings are all there, randomly bouncing around inside me. But I just can't get the energy or the motivation to go with them. Sounds like a volatile situation to me. I thought it (this state of discontentment, for lack of a better word) would pass. Feels like it might be here to stay. What concerns me the most aboot all this? Usually I can laugh this stuff off.

It's not funny anymore.

God help me and anyone who has to deal with me...

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