It is a grey day. The skies are overcast with the promise of rain. The sun lurks somewhere behind the grey veil casting a pale light over the yard. I sit at the island, a cup of tea by my side. Wisps of steam escape and dance away into nothingness.
The eerie glow of the laptop screen is all I see. I look at the time and realize I have about half an hour to pen down the stray thoughts I have been playing with since morning.
Grey days like these make me melancholy. It makes me look past the immediacy. It makes me mull over things like cancer and unemployment and insecurity. It makes me sit up and wonder what on earth am I doing conning myself into designing and writing code I do not understand or feel anything for. I wonder if I will ever be passionate about anything. The balance between doing the right thing and following my heart seems harder than ever to achieve.
I sit and wonder about possibilities. About the what ifs. What if I had the freedom to pursue whatever I liked? What if I actually had the determination to pursue writing as a career? What if I actually made a determined effort to take baby steps to pursuing that dream?
I sigh and look at the clock again. Five minutes till I get back to the grind. Five minutes to wake up from fantasy land and look in the fridge to prep for dinner.
Dissatisfaction runs in my blood perhaps?