about where I am with this not-being-unhappy-all-the-time thing. But I don't know where I am. I haven't written much recently, which is definitely bad. And I'm not any better at focusing while at work, or on getting stuff (schoolwork, housework, keeping in touch w/ people) done. And I still have bits of anxiety about personal life things.
But something (Prozac? Just confronting all this it?) has given me room to manouevre, room to breathe. Room to sit on my couch this morning drinking coffee and eating figs and toast with peach butter in perfect contentment*. Room to start thinking about who I really am and what I really want. Room to acknowledge the big questions, and room to begin piecing together answers. Room, even, to let my fears in without having them drown me.
* Ok, it does not exactly take a lama to appreciate that rather fantastic breakfast.
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