Update

Alright. Here I am.
These days there's not much interest in leaving my mark with a series of well-crafted, insightful blog-posts, or rather, there is, but there's no actual drive for it. No drive to accomplish anything, no drive to attract or entertain anyone.
Don't get me wrong; I want to do these things, but I can't make myself actually do them: I am stuck in a bubble of complacent apathy. Why go though the effort when I can just lull myself asleep with the very next thing that presents itself?
Nothing really matters.

No, that's not true. Of course things matter; certain things always do: Family is one of those things. You do everything for family. Family comes with, or should come with, love. And, if you're lucky, that love has rooted itself deep and has now become unconditional. It is a given. And it is a necessity.
But most everything else has ceased to matter much.

These things that used to grab you, grasp you, clench you with an immovable grip, have lost their hold on you, and have become like shadows in the night. You've lost sight of them. They've blended into the greater whole, or, by being invisible, have ceased to exist.

I can't read anymore.

This is problematic.

My lust for books and stories is what drove this blog. It is desire that made this engine go; a feverish, obsessive fire that propelled my unhappy soul to push towards some goal of my own devising, and for some meaning to be endowed to an empty life.
For now, this goal is lost. I'm in a limbo, still pining for bygone days of manufactured satisfaction.
There was pride here. An ongoing achievement, never-ending, renewing itself with all the effort given, feeding itself with the fuel of discontent. It is the coal that stoked the fire, but the coal has become superfluous, because the rain is gasoline.
The fire rages, and all it requires, is to have been. From one moment to the next; introduce a new element to the status quo, and it's either burn brighter, or be snuffed out.

I haven't been snuffed out.

I suppose I should be happy.