I don't necessarily mean that in a bad way.
More often than not, inspiration comes to me in the form of angst.
Lately, there's just been...Life.
Life without angst is a good thing. I am not complaining. I've got it good, but I'm not exactly longing for my laptop so I can pour out my musings.
Truth be told, I'm not musing much lately.
I'm too tired.
I'm just trying to keep up.
After the Summer Of Salsa, I find myself still struggling to catch up to Reality. I feel like I'm on a perpetual treadmill: always going, going, going.
None of it is "bad:"
I have a good job with good hours.
I have an amazing husband who truly sees our life as a partnership.
I have incredibly selfless parents and in-laws who constantly pitch in with babysitting.
I have time to myself almost on a daily basis.
I have two healthy, happy kids who (mostly) follow their tightly-set daily routine.
There are no crises, currently.
It's all good.
But still, I find that I struggle with day-to-day life. I find the everyday tedious and frustrating and, well, repetitive. I sometimes think that we spend so much of our life wasting away at jobs and errands and laundry and bathing children (even if I do sorta like my job and my children are pretty damn cute when they're splashing in the tub). It's just Life. Life is busy and hectic, even when it's good and boring and drama-free.
And then I feel guilty...guilty that I struggle, that I complain, that I'm always so tired. Because I am well aware of how lucky I am, how truly blissful life is when there's nothing to write about.