My 200th post, and my 3rd year of writing this blog. Yaaaay, me.

I am bored, but not rightfully so. I am in a town that is still new to me; there is exploring to be done, gardens and homes to be aesthetically inspected as I wander, new people to meet. But... well... meh. I'm sure I must just be in a cyclical rut.

I am in one of those gray moods that make me reconsider the benefits of being on some sort of mood-boosting medication, the kind that makes me actually want to get up in the morning. Then again... I know well that some exercise, a triple dose of vitamin D, and actually DOING something (whether or not I feel like doing something) will probably be just as helpful, easier on the pocketbook, and more beneficial to my overall being in the long term.

I have been helping Nathan (albeit enviously) as he shows off his beautiful carvings, and pursues his new art form with a fervour I have seldom-to-never felt about my own artwork. As I type, he is sitting in the cool spring sunshine, whittling away. I thought about painting, but let the idea pass with little more than a sigh. I instead lay wrapped up in my winter jacket, face up on the kids trampoline for a while. I got cold, and wandered in to write this.

I am in the middle of a calligraphy project that I am loathe to finish; yet I can't allow myself to start anything else until that job is done. I had expected it to be fun-- I thought my client had a good idea of what I like to do (foolish assumption), and instead found myself with a very boring project of repeating the same verses four times over, in plain black ink on plain cream paper. I had envisioned swirls of colour and creeping foliage intertwined with the text. No such luck. I haven't yet fully completed even ONE of the four, and my deadline draws near. I can't forfeit the project either; my client's money is already in my bank. I am in his debt, quite literally.

There are several niggling problems that have been knocking at the back door of my mind... but I have been pretending to be a teenager on summer vacation, imagining that every little thing will take care of itself. I haven't a job, or a home. I have to re-file my taxes. I have bills to pay, but find it difficult with little income, and multitudes of outcomes. I am tired of being a grownup who isn't.

I really would like to make my family proud of me, in the way that they were proud of me when I was 17 and in Youth Group and Jazz Choir and running for Miss Penticton and volunteering with whatever project came my way, and dressing up and using my best manners for dinners with family members and the mayor, etcetera, etcetera. And I really would like to make my own self proud of me, in the way I was proud of myself when I was living in Japan, paying my bills, and forging friendships, and telling a taxicab driver where to go in Japanese. Everyday (or most of them, especially in the beginning) were flavoured with adventure, novelty, and possibility.

I guess I do know what I want. I want to get in deep again, in the thick of life. This surface game is killing me- the act of shopping for basics and getting the daily coffee and flipping through the "Help Wanted" ads-- none of it feels genuine, or desirable. The boredom may in fact, be warranted.