The Silent Pandemic

You probably noticed (or didn't notice), but I haven't been updating in my online journals. Basically, there hasn't really been much to journal about. I'm working my regular 9-5 job, go home every night, have my dinner, check my emails, and go to bed. I don't really have any worries; I pay the rent, got food in my stomach, clothes on my back. Life is managable. And yet, in all it's livability, the boredom, like an odorless build-up of carbon monoxide, might just be killing me softly.

Don't get me wrong; I'm learning about a lot of useful things. Like how to manage my money. Or how to plan for the future. And how to financially prepare for a family. But with all this planning for the future, reading about adventures in a another country and the struggles of a first-year school teacher make me long for the time when I used to be passionate about TODAY. Doesn't mean that I don't like my job, nor that I don't want to do well, but singing in Royce Hall, rehearsing for a play, planning for a retreat with your friends; THOSE passions that make life worth living make taking calls for 8 hours look like, well, a job.

Now, I know that there are worse things in the world, and there are poor, starving people in the world who would give anything to for all the blessings I have. But the mundane makes you take those blessings for granted. Really, the mundane is a disease. And when untreated, the mundane pushes the psyche to find more extreme ways to become aroused, no matter how disturbing it might be. And after watching CNN's coverage of the hurricanes, the war, the potential disaster that would have been called JetBlue 292, I've come to believe that well-to-do America might just be the most mundane place on the face of the Earth.

I took the regular 9-5 job to finance my life. But routine washed away the things I had come to love. I now struggle to rebuild that life to its former glory.