As I sit and listen to the grasshoppers chirp outside and one of the dogs snoring inside, I realize that another day has come and gone.
I did several things and had a fairly productive day, but I can't help but feel like it was yet another day wasted.
When I got out of bed this morning, I was determined to get a long list of things done. In my silly little head, I was convinced that if I accomplished everything on my list then I would somehow feel as though I had lived today fully.
Even though I did do a lot on the list, I can tell you that not even a solid effort made me feel more valuable.
I actually found myself sitting staring at the computer screen for several hours wondering what to do next, even though I had a list.
There has to be a correlation between being stuck in this house all day and feeling useless to the world.
I wish I could find something to do that would bring me satisfaction and be of some value for someone besides me. Why is it so difficult to find that?
I'm not really afraid of trying to do anything, but I am a little afraid of not finding anything to try.
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