There's not really much to say. I sleep at night, and have complex, realistic, vivid dreams I only partially remember when I wake up. I'm not sure whether they interfere with my sleep, or I'm apneic, or what, but I'm tired in the morning, without any other symptoms of real depression.

I go through my day in well-defined patterns, commuting at about the same time every day, doing the same nothing at work every day, going home about the same time every day, eating the same kinds of dinners every day, and going to bed fairly early without doing much else to distinguish one day from the next.

Now, I'm not horribly depressed, and I don't feel like dying like I used to, but ... is this living?

I just feel trapped, and possibly comfortably so.

Is that all I want? Am I really so afraid of adventure that I refuse to ever have any? Maybe, as I approach fifty, adventure is over-rated. I guess I just wish they hadn't been so rare.