I deleted the original post I made under this heading because I wasn't particularly happy with it. It was a little too cryptic and incoherent for a public blog. What I really wanted to say was just that I've been thinking about the notion of making each day count. It's a subjective idea, isn't it? Everyone has a different opinion about what "counts" and what doesn't in their lives. I'm still deciding what it means for me to make a day count.
Today, I am having a hard time coming up with something to say. It happens and I am trying not to stress about it too much. I think maybe I'll give myself the night off from attempting profundity. Maybe I'll read a bit, spend some time with my cat and learn new French words. Or maybe I will have the last Mike's Hard Pomegranate and just go watch a cheesy Christmas movie. For tonight, I guess this will be enough.
Tomorrow I will sort out the rest.
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I like living. I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow, but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing. - Agatha Christie
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