I’m often asked what I’m passionate about and I can’t think of a single thing. If I had to grab stuff and leave my apartment forever, I wouldn’t angst over too much. Pictures of the kids, this laptop, maybe a couple of favorite books. It’s just stuff.

I have interests. Right now it’s podcasting, but if you told me I had to stop tomorrow I’d be bummed but it wouldn’t like, break my heart. I used to love to read but I can’t tell you the last time I sat engrossed in a book.

I have future plans to somehow get an RV to move into permanently and just take off across the country. Not enough gumption to actually make any moves in that direction, mind you. I figure my credit is shit and it’ll never happen, so I guess I haven’t really invested my heart into that either.

I feel I’m trudging through life. It used to be when the kids were set, I’d go. But the kids are pretty much out on their own (I’m still around for quick rescues and babysitting) but I’ve no ambition make a move. My lease is up August 1st so I’d be free.

Wow, that’s not where I’d planned this post to go…

Anyway, about passion. I can’t think of anything I’m not meh about. Maybe Kira, but aren’t most Grandparents a bit overboard about teh babees? I like social media events, but I don’t get upset if I miss a few. I enjoy IgnitePhx and ImprovAZ stuff, but again I wouldn’t sit home and cry if I had to um, sit home.

Why am I so closed off? I don’t feel. I keep going hoping something will strike – something will spark an interest. Something that’s more than just going through the motions.

Is that depression?