I don't know what's wrong with me, but I know there is something. I have that sinking feeling again. Perhaps a bit of PTSD? I can't write. I don't want to travel, yet I feel like I'm missing out. I don't want to be with people. I don't want any responsibilities. I want to resign from all my volunteer activities. I am anxious all the time, and yet I have no interest in anything.
I've lost my mojo. I've lost my confidence. I have no passion. I've lost some of my soul. In fact, I am afraid.
I have nightmares. I am going to physio because my shoulders and neck are tied up in knots. I shouldn't be having this anxiety. I am fully vaccinated with two boosters, each of a different vaccine. I've survived Covid itself without much ado. So I shouldn't be worried about that.
I definitely think I am an ugly old woman when I look in the mirror. I remember my mom saying the same thing around this age, although I am more mobile and active than she was.
I don't know how to find what I want to do next. Maybe it should be just escaping into the books that I've bought for that purpose but haven't been willing to tackle? Maybe I should take that winemaking course in Burgundy or at least online.
I feel like I'm running out of time, but then I wonder what's the point. If I see everything on earth, will it help me in eternity, if that exists?
I know I should be grateful for everything I have: a wonderful husband, a wonderful home in a beautiful place, my health. So many in the world are suffering. Floods in Pakistan, famine in Somalia, fires in California and France and elsewhere, war in Ukraine. And then there's Trump and Liz Truss.
Why can't I just be happy, or at least content? Why am I so sad? Maybe because of the state of the world? It all seems so pointless.
