I try to tell myself its a literary medium. That facts are selected, polished, pushed to the front. It's a representation of the real (or maybe even of the desired). It's not life in all of its stickiness.
But I just can't help myself when I observe: some of you appear to be having much richer lives than me. Going interesting places. Reading remarkable books. Creating art. Making jewelry. Taking well-timed naps. Breathing deeply and expanding your soul.
I, on the other hand, seem to wash a lot of dishes, fill out paperwork, and sit in my office playing AnswerMom for
students who haven't yet studied for their upcoming exam. The window is dirty (cannot get to the outer pane to
clean it, since it's painted shut). My office has a single lightbulb, bare, that I hate to turn on because of the
odd shadows and glare that it casts. So it's dingy, gloomy, and discouraging in my work space.
Thank god I have other people's lives to follow. My own isn't provoking my spirit to sing right now.