I don’t really feel like reading any more, these days.  I’ve loved reading all my life, going so far as to take my undergraduate degree in English.  I just haven’t wanted to.  Books still interest me, but I just don’t enjoy reading like I used to.  I’m not sure what this signifies. 

If that wasn’t odd enough, I don’t want to write any more, either.  I used to enjoy writing about my day, trying to be witty and funny, expressing myself.  I still feel the urge to write.  But I just don’t want to any more.  I’m barely getting this post out.  I’d call it writer’s block, but combined with my disinterest in reading, I don’t know if that’s all it is.

Maybe I’m just changing.  It’s disorienting– to know myself and what I like, then to realize that I don’t like it any more.  I realize this is a symptom of depression– to lack interest in the activities that used to interest me.  But if that’s the case, what is the depression a symptom of?  If reading and writing don’t make me happy any more, then yeah, I lack happiness, resulting in sadness, or at least blah-ness.  So what makes me happy?  What do I want?

Fuck if I know.


2 Responses to “change”

  1. teambaby Says:

    Just getting caught up on my Google reader finally…

    I know how you feel. I’ve followed a similar arc; my interest in reading and writing probably peaked in middle or high school. I pinned the diminishment of interest at least partly on, well, getting a life. I never had many friends and no love interests until midway through high school. When I acquired a larger group of friends and a boyfriend, I still read and wrote, but I didn’t need the escape quite as much. In college it further happened, along with becoming intimidated by the critiques of my writing by professors and fellow students. Nowadays, I write fiction only sporadically. I do blog frequently, but the bulk of it is on my personal-finance blog, about as far from fiction writing as you can get. I do make a stab at National Novel Writing Month every year, but without regular practice at writing fiction, it’s just too damn hard to fall back into, so I’ve never finished more than a fifth of the words required to win.

    As for reading, I find it difficult to commit to a book partly because the demands of real life–work, chores, household management, two spouses and now a child–make it hard for me to devote long periods of time to reading. When I do read a book, I like to be able to lose myself in it until it’s done, which is harder to do with more responsibilities to distract me. But again, I find real life to be quite engrossing. Even just the everyday stuff of relationships, work, personal finance and social life. I know as a kid I pictured myself leading this bohemian artistic lifestyle and would have shuddered at the thought of marriage, mortgage, kids, and a 9-to-5 job, but it really does exhaust the creative energies just to make a concerted go at being a functioning adult. 🙂

    But yeah, it’s a bit disturbing to me sometimes, how little creative focus I have these days. It was the centerpiece of my life for at least 15 to 20 of my 36 years, so sometimes it feels like a piece of me is missing.

  2. atheisthomesteader Says:

    I think you got it in the last line of that entry. Fuck. Seriously. Sometimes all a body needs is a little physical pleasure, and the gates to emotional pleasure will open up. Okay, so maybe you shouldn’t go out and become little miss loosy goosy, but do something physical. Take a hike. Ride a bike around town. Rent a canoe with a friend and explore a local river for an afternoon. Buy a super-delux fifteen speed vibe and go nuts when no one will hear you. I’ve been through the phases of being uninterested in pursuits of the mind. Sometimes it just gets too monotonous. Maybe while Granny is watching tv, you can do some situps or take a few runs up and down the stairs.

    I think everyone goes through times of ennui. All you need is something new to distract you. Have you ever tried drawing or painting? I hope this funk passes, because I like reading your blog. I think you are much wittier and so much more interesting than I could ever be. Toodles!

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