Things are, in the post-failure-to-quit era, evening out. I find that I am, each week, more stable, generally happier, and have moderately more energy for ordinary things.
There is, however, a faint ennui slipping in around the edges. Nothing huge, just a general disinclination to do a damned thing that I am supposed to. Happily, I have very clear lists of tasks to perform. That appears to be keeping me on track…but, still, a faint voice whispers “what’s the point?”
I think, but cannot prove, that I have avoided that whisper all this time by running from crisis to crisis, saving the world one victim at a time. When someone is drowning in front of you, you really don’t need to stop and consider if you really want to go for a swim. You just dive and go.
Part of me misses all of those people counting on me for deliverance from their own (usually self-imposed) catastrophes. I will say that, without them, my life is quieter. Without them, my life is mine.
So, that’s good.
I still sort of miss them. I won’t have them back, though.