Dissecting the Lynn

Why do I suck? I find myself asking this question often these days. So I think I am going to try and figure out exactly that. At present I am not sure how to do that. It seems I am stuck in this rut of continuing blah. So I am going to have to force myself to do something, anything. I guess my problem is that I never suffered from a lack of impetus. All of the sudden it hits like a ton of bricks that my kid is 4 years old, and he doesn't have a mother that he can be really proud of. What have I done with my life? Why did I end up here, with no motivation to do anything but take care of him and his dad. Am I some strange traditionalist content with having dinner ready at 5:00 and playing with Legos? It's looking like it today. But it didn't look like that ten years ago, or at least I didn't see it. I'm not sure that will be the case tomorrow, either. For now it suits me I guess. The thing that gets to me is the lack of motivation to do anything else. I don't paint, I don't play music, I don't even really write any more. These are things that I love, and yet I just can't get up the gumption to get up and do them. Who on this planet doesn't want to do things that they enjoy? Apparently this girl. Even sitting down tonight to write about how I don't get why I don't want to write, felt almost chore-like. So I guess the only thing to do is to hop around the old memory banks and try to figure out what and who molded me into the neurotic mess you see here before you. The next goal is to write something tomorrow night at 9:00. So whatever I am thinking about at that time is probably what I am going to write about. I hope it isn't toast, because right now I'm thinking about toast.