NOT WRITING ANYTHING NEW

Seemingly, life is passing me every day, and yet I am not writing anything new, for everything seems to be stuck. Stuck in a vicious loop of going round the clock of nothingness. Days blend into one another without a care, and I often end up forgetting what day just passed.

This is all very new to me. To not remember what day it is, or the lack of direction in life. For I was the one who just knew what I was supposed to do next, what I needed to do next. I would plan my hours, days, weeks, and months in advance because that was what life required of me.

Now, they all just blend into one another. It’s one day after the other.

With the same routine, same people, same chores. It becomes very mundane very easily. Yet I crave no excitement anymore. I don’t crave drama. I detest social interactions, except for some, of course.

Most days, I like this. My partner calls me a ‘grandma’ because of my now old soul.

Life is pretty much passing me by, but I am content. I am content with all that I have been blessed with. I have everything I need to be comfortable, and that is probably why, for so many people, I have become oh so complacent. Funnily, I don’t mind.

Some days, I like the fact that I have forgotten what day it is. I enjoy that no drama is happening to keep me on my toes, and I revel in the fact that I don’t have to please people and cater to someone’s emotional and mental needs.

I like this form of escape. Yes, it is not helping me with writing, since writing requires experience, living life to the fullest, and adventures. Sadly, that’s not happening for now, and for now, I am very okay with it.

Then again, some days I am not okay. The complacency gets to me, the blending in gets to me very much, but that is also when I realize how blessed I am for this. For this comfortable life.

A life where I am focusing on working on my spiritual growth, my mental healing, my physical healing to an extent, and just maybe growing slowly and gradually under the soil where even I cannot see. After all, trees never get to see how far the roots go to nourish them.

So yeah. This is it. This is why I am not writing anything new, and this is why I wrote something again.

P.S. Why is that picture so me while writing this?