Moving On

Maybe it's the cold I'm lumbered with or maybe it's the medicine I've taken for said cold, but I'm in a philosophical (and surprisingly laid back) mood. So excuse me while I ramble a bit.

It's been quite a week. Due to my usual practise of completely losing track of how many pills I have left, I ran out of sertraline last weekend. Cue much being tired, stressed, tearful etc. But I still failed to go pick up another prescription and I'm starting to think it isn't worth it as I'll be over the worst of the withdrawal by the time I get any. So once again I'll try going without. Maybe I'll manage for more than a few months this time.

Work was all going smoothly until Friday. It's always Fridays, isn't it? May have to change working practices again. And I have no confidence that I'll be able to provide the required information on Monday. But frankly, that's not my fault, and I once again find myself thinking "I'm just not paid enough to care". All I can do is work with the information given to me. If that's wrong or incomplete, well, tough.

Friends came and we chatted. Friends came and we gamed. There was even talk of roleplaying again. Would be kind of nice to get to play something. Might make me want to GM again. Any other attempts at creativity have been failing before getting to a keyboard. Even this bout of actually attempting to communicate is getting harder to continue. But I know if I stop I'll never get round to finishing. So I'm going to struggle to the end. And not stop to edit, for that way lies the delete button.

But some other things happened this week that may have also led to my not-entirely-cough-medicine-induced philosophical mood. Firstly my Facebook feed suddenly had a lot of posts from friends dealing with the sudden loss of one of their own - a young man I never met and had never even heard of until then. I still know nothing about him other than that he's gone and a lot of people are going to miss him. Then the very next day I discovered (again via the wonders of the internet) that some other friends of friends had lost their newborn son. Hard to express enough sympathy in those circumstances, especially without feeling like an intruder in complete strangers' grief. Tears and raging against the injustice of the world just didn't seem enough, so I just buried myself in my own life's petty problems and tried to forget it all.

As you can tell, I failed.

And today I've been too ill to do much, beyond sleep, veg out in front of DVDs and make the very vague and fuzzy decision that I need to change my attitude to life. I need to stop wallowing in the feeling that I'm missing out on something. I need to stop telling myself with every passing day that I'm wasting my life. I need to stop feeling as though I have an obligation to blog, or write, or run games, or entertain my friends with witty or interesting posts on Facebook/Twitter/Google+.I need to stop telling myself my son's life is boring and he's growing up without "a proper childhood" (whatever that means). I need to stop counting all the things I haven't done yet. I need to stop, basically, and be content with just being. Because yes, life is short,and yes, I don't know how long I've got left, and yes, each year seems to go by faster, but I doubt that when I do die, whether it's tomorrow or in fifty years time, my loved ones are going to think "she never did watch Twin Peaks".