My muse has been taking a breather. It seems to know I don’t have time for nagging creative thoughts. I have work to do.
Sometimes I get to thinking it would serve me well to have more direction in life. Much of my existence follows the take-it-as-it-comes philosophy. It keeps me on my toes but lacks any real push towards meaningful accomplishment. Yes, I did cleaned the kitchen for the gazillionth time but does that really count as having *done* anything? It isn’t something I’m eager to include in the post mortem of my day, though (somedays) if I didn’t, it would seem I did nothing but romance the pooch.
Someone once suggested that I’d know I was truly grown up when I became the same person around my parents as I am around my friends. I’m not sure why this was deemed to be a barometer of maturity. Frankly, I’m not sure any of us want to go through life being the same person at every turn.