Stagnation and other three syllable words.

I remember the days when I could write three or four entries here and still have words to share with you all.

I remember loving writing. I remember having a good time. A bit more hope than I have now. I sink so much of my energy into uselessness right now. Blocking of spam, wishing I somehow had more courage than I do. Wishing that perhaps, some things had not been so unreasonable.

With the added distance to work, I have had a lot more time to be with myself and think, eliminating some of my need to write here. Eliminating some of the weird thoughts, the ideas, the… spark of my life. I really, really am saddened by this turn. But I somehow don’t seek to change my position, my life, my career or find something else to do…

I’m contented. I’ve succumbed. I guess. I still am unhappy, still seeking something. But I seem to have lost track of what it is I yearn for and I cannot find it again.

I somehow miss myself. The me that is written in this diary a hundred or so entries ago. The me who was. The me who seemed to have a voice…

Perhaps by sharing this feeling I’ll find him again. Perhaps.