I am sad today. I think my sadness comes in part from being alone in the house, and partly from today being the anniversary of my father's passing. I should have gone to the office today, made sure I was surrounded by friendly (or at least cordial) faces. It's a bad day for telecommuting.
I am also sad because lately I have been thinking a lot about who I am and what my life is about. And I honestly have no frakking clue. I am forty years old now, quite possibly at the midpoint between birth and death, with not much to show for. The quotidian doldrums of work and my pathetic attempts at managing a family and home overload my brain cells and zap every last ounce of energy I have. This does not leave much time or drive for any intellectual/artistic pursuits, or for any serious critical/rational assessment of the world beyond my inmediate sphere of influence. Often I walk through life in a zombified state. I am perpetually in the present, and endlessly tired. I am sick of being inundated with the inane, a veritable glut of propaganda and sensationalism coming from all flanks. I am tired of not really knowing what the hell is going on in the world.
Sometimes I feel like yelling ¡Coño, despierta boricua! at myself.
I have many sources of happiness in my life. Why can't I be content? There is a yearning deep inside, yet I do not know what I yearn for.