A glum day of rest

Going on a trip tomorrow. Took today off from work. I needed to get things done -- laundry, pack, pay bills, find some maps of where I'm going tomorrow. But the day came and I did not wish to do anything. I did not feel well. I told myself to get going. I drank 20 ounces of coffee. No help. No work was squeezed out of me. I felt so wrong. Felt unworthy, depressed, knew I was not myself. Longed for escape. I went to the library. Got three novels. Read Mad Maudlin by Mercedes Lackey and Rosemary Edghill. It was about 440 pages. I read it all the way through. So now, here I am, finished the book, past my bedtime, still nothing done to get ready, and I have to leave at 8am.

A line in the book:

I have no idea what I'm going to do when I graduate. I try to feel drawn to some particular course of action, but I don't. There must be something that's right -- but I just can't see it. Am I ever going to be able to see it?

It was as if that came straight out of my heart. And I have felt that way for years. Living a life that is wrong for me, but I can't find one that's right for me, and one must go on living, so if a wrong life is all there is, then I must live a wrong life.