Nothing Much to Write About
There's nothing much to write about right now. Life is good. Things are good. And that mostly means life isn't all that interesting. Things are not all that interesting. I'm always a much better writer when my feelings are hurt over something, when something hard is happening, when there's some sort of something that needs sorting out and I can't help but get feelings all over everyone and everything.
But not right now. Things are good. In fact, the biggest drama in my life today was probably deciding what color pen to use for my conspiracy-theory-esque flow chart effort at solving a particularly puzzling slide puzzle of equipment distribution at the office. (Red. The answer should have been red. But red felt stressful. So I chose blue. And then threw the chart away about an hour later. But still. DRAMA!)
It's nice when life is good. It really is. I like stable. I like content. It's just not all that INTERESTING. You sit down for a conversation and realize that, without feelings leaking out everywhere, you run out of things to say rather quickly. I suppose that's when one should try listening on the off-chance that the person across the table has something of note to share.
On what I'm sure is a totally unrelated note, I seem to have developed a sudden interest in telenovelas, romance novels, and other overly dramatic stories.
Because, you know, balance.