I’m not happy.

Driving back from the school run, it suddenly struck me that despite fooling myself for a long time that I am happy with my life, I’m not. My life is empty and meaningless.

It’s 9.27am on a Wednesday morning; I’ve done the school run, and I’m back in bed. Why? Because I’m tired, hormonal, but mostly because I have nothing to do with my day, apart from a massive amount of housework that I have no motivation for at all. I don’t feel depressed; I just feel bored.

Bored with my life.

I’m beyond tired of being tired. Every single day, more or less, I am tired. I could possibly change this by changing my diet and by seeing the doctor to rule anything out, but I’m too tired to do either.

I hate having pets. I hate having guinea pigs that just make the house smell, make me sneeze, and make my asthma play up, but Annie gets so upset when I say they may have to go. I hate having a dog. All he ever does is piss and shit everywhere, and bark at me; I hate it. It’s unfair, though; the animals are having miserable lives with us, and it would be fairer to let them go, but the kids want to keep them all. All the while though, I feel restricted by them.

I have nothing to do. I should look for work, but nothing interests me, or I either think I’m not good enough or think I’m too good/clever for certain things. So, I’m doing nothing. I could study, but I can’t motivate myself to do that either. I could volunteer, but I don’t.

I can’t even be bothered to write any more of this.