I've got a sadness in me today that I'm doing my best to shake. It's likely the weather; cold and gray and rainy as it is outside of my window. Could be seasonal or it could just be a sad sort of day. I find myself trying to wait for some sort of personal revelation ("All revelations are personal- that's why they're suspect") to come while watching movies and packing for my road trip, and instead I find nothing but a familiar melancholy.
That's not a complaint, really. More like a resignation of the reality of my actual day to day life. Little pockets of whimsy surrounded by way too much thinking and planning and reasoning. I came to the conclusion the other day that my life is a good life. An interesting life, one that were it not my life would be a life worth coveting. To some degree it seems that the melancholy is an offering to appease the whimsy without which I'd probably totally withdraw. So as with all sacrifices of any worth, I have to go willingly with it.