From my most depressing late night poem that this new year did not induce happy, excited feelings from me at all. I was reading my facebook, watching tv, and noticing everyone is so excited for the year to come, for the celebration at midnight.
I. was. not.
The Peter Pan in me kept repeating "you're getting old." "you're gunna die one day, and it's fast approaching." "your little girls are growing up..."
And man lemme tell ya, I was getting pretty depressed.
But days have passed, and life went on as usual. And without the huge celebration of passing time, I'm feeling more myself.
I suppose it might stem from this incessant feeling that I've not done all that I was capable of accomplishing. That there could have been more to me and more to my life than what I have.
** And inevitably someone will point out everything wonderful and good and say that I must be grateful. And I am grateful, but is it so bad to be honest and admit that it isn't enough?