Welcome to Siberia.

I live in the future. Yeah, I'm one of those people.

"Live in the present, yay, balloons and unicorns and happy thoughts," you say. No. I won't. You can't make me.

I am constantly counting down to something. Or, at least I was. But this time, it's a long, long, long road to count to. I count the days 'til Christmas. My birthday. Our anniversary. 'Til a three-day weekend. 'Til Rediscover has another concert. Until someone comes to visit ...

But I have nothing going for me. Nothing. I'm in the middle of the Siberia of my life. Or maybe it's just Wednesday Eve.

How do people go on like this, day after day? I mean, I'm not a marathon runner. That's why I don't run them. So why does it feel like I'm stuck at mile marker one, with 89 miles to go? (I realize that's not a marathon. It's my blog, though. What are you gonna do about it? Huh?) How do people who are in their middle ages (not The Middle Ages) get up and go to work and come home and eat supper and fold laundry and go to bed early and get up and go to work -- every. Single. Day. How do they do it. I want answers.

I realize the bills won't get paid if they don't get up and go. I get that. I will continue to get up and follow the masses to my day job because it pays rent and the bills, and it's not a bad job at all. I like it. But I just started. Maybe I should count the days 'til retirement. Nah. It keeps moving back, anyhow. Ha.

Glimmer of hope: I'm going to see a band Friday night. Don't know 'em. But I'm going with the fiance, and a few friends. I guess I could count down to that. Three days. Three days. Three days ...