Looking back at my recent entries, I find that I have a very boring life.
I natter on about household stuff, little daily incidents that are part of the business of life. My family, the critters, etc.
I post news stories, quotes, and poetry that are more compelling than what I write myself.
Yes, there was a time when my journal was far more interesting. My life was more interesting, in the Chinese curse sense of the word.
I have to remind myself to make “real” posts now.
Difficult things do happen, but they’re less common than they were a few years back. I’m seldom ready to talk about them for a good long time, and then it seems silly to kvetch about them.
Right now, I’m sitting on the couch doing some minor accounting. shadowkatt is reading one of the Liaden novels while re-formatting her hard drive for a system rebuild. sambear has braved the rain to fetch Chinese food, in accordance with family tradition, before doing more work on one of the Linux machines. curiousmay9 is on the road visiting her family. The cats are cuddled up sleeping on various surfaces. The dog is pondering another trip out to bark at the world.
A fire in the hearth would be just perfect, but we haven’t had the chimney inspected/cleaned since buying the house this spring, so it’s unwise.
This strange feeling? It’s contentment. I’m happy. None of the problems in my life are insurmountable. I’m blessed in this life we’ve built.
I wish you the same.
