Drifting

That's all I'm doing. Just drifting through life. I get up. I turn on the coffee pot. I go to the restroom. I have my coffee. I think about what could and should have been. I'm inside my own head all the time. I eventually shower. I think about upcoming events or obligations. I try to muster up the willpower to act on those events or obligations. I realize that in the end, nothing makes a difference. Fix the kitchen sink. Work on meaningless graduate education class assignments. Start thinking about the upcoming school year and the classes I'll be teaching. Go to the doctor to see about a possible change in medication. Go to the gym. None of it matters. I'm just drifting from one day to the next. From one week to the next. From one month to the next. I'm just drifting through life until it ends. No meaning, no sense of purpose, no idea why I even bother getting up.

Am I being unrealistic or spoiled in thinking that a person's life should have at least a little bit of happiness? Of purpose? Of meaning? I'll be 43 years old next month. I don't know if I can take another 20 minutes of this, much less years. Not suicidal, not crying out for help -- just completely defeated, hollow, and devoid of all hope. There has to be more to life than this.

3:05

Apparently, it's the new witching hour. For the past week, I have woken up at 3:05 on the button, for no discernible reason. I have gone to bed at different times. I have had my last meals of the day at different times. I have had different levels of physical activity throughout the days. No matter what the circumstances, I have woken up at 3:05. If this were a horror movie or a nightmare, the lights wouldn't work when I tried to switch them on. Thus far (knock on wood!), the lights have come on when, in my disoriented, frightened and annoyed haze, I flip the switch. Furthermore, no disembodied hand, claw, hoof, or evil appendage of your choice has grabbed my arm when I reach for the light switch. Again, knock on wood! I don't think my home was built on an ancient Indian burial ground, and since I'm the original resident, there's no way a previous tenant was murdered at precisely 3:05. I don't know what the deal is, but I'm not above admitting that I'm seriously creeped out by these quasi-paranormal shenanigans. If this escalates and I should happen to wake up dead or wind up looking like this, please tell my loved ones I said good-bye.