My Thots

My Thots are once more locked up inside of me, hidden from my own heart and eyes by the desire to write something more meaningful than what is going on in my day to day life, and feeling too tired to find it.

Yet, when I think of it, what could be more important to me than my present life? If I were in some sort of terrible danger, or involved in changing the world on a grand scale, I would not hesitate to write of it, but whose life is always, or even mostly, busy with these sorts of things? Most of us live lives in a very modest sort of way.

We are not romance heroines, or dashing Machiavellian figures. And, let's face it, the poverty and melodrama that makes up movies on painters and poets and musicians, was probably not all that much of a thrill for them. Had they known they would be famous some day, it might have made them feel better, but an empty stomach and cold room is not much of an inspiration after a while.

So, I am warm and well fed. I am loved by my family and dogs. I have a home to live in and a beautiful world to look at it. Politics are tense right now. Unfair wars rage on, killing innocents. Life is perceived as important in different ways to different friends. I am not unaware, nor am I completely uninvolved, but neither am I beating myself to death because I am not suffering.

I feel as if I should feel guilty for something, but I honestly do not see what. Guilt is probably just an ingrained part of my psyche. I am so used to drama and melodrama that living empty and content for a while might just feel odd.