Getting out of the funk.

I somehow feel like I should have something pseudo monumental to write. Truth be known. I'm simply not that interesting. Our days are filled with pretty much the same relatively unexciting stuff. We get up, we clean, we head out some place, we come back, clean, we cook some stuff, we clean, we get Ethan, we clean and yet at the end of the day this place still needs to be cleaned. I understand how a factory worker feels putting the same sprocket in the same doo-hickey every single day. Breaking it up with seeing friends is of course key but life at home continues and the laundry will not fold itself. I can see now why I didn't have a gaggle of friends in our previous life. I was depressing. I must have oozed frustration, irritation and general malaise. I find it unbearably hard to be around those that aren't seeing the beauty in the fog lifting from the trees. I feel obligated, like maybe I'll be some beacon of light that they will come out of the depths to see. But if I'm honest with myself, its fading my own. I know I have to concentrate on those around me with the same joy, if I hold any hope in keeping mine alive. Maybe that's because I'm so new to being happy that it's easy for me to slip back, easy to pick up that coat and wear it all day long. and for what? we all want to help out, we see a friend suffering, struggling, barely doing a doggie paddle and I want to cast every thing off and dive in but man alive. At some point you need to pull up your bootstraps and figure it out. I sense some tough love coming, I'd like to say I hate confrontation but alas. Seriously people if you sit around complaining, waiting on some beam of light to shine on you and show you the way you're going to have a very sore butt. The beam will warm you I swear but you have to find your way to it yourself. Circles are ever flexible, they can be as big as you dare and as small as your sanity allows, I feel mine tightening. I'm taking this coat off now.