feeling empty.

I'm in a strange funk. There's no reason for it, no real explanation. I find myself generally disinterested in pretty much everything. Even going to Scotland, which under normal circumstances I would have been all giggly and giddy and excited for, was just something I sort of did. And the weather's even been nice-ish the last couple of days but I can't shake this - this - I don't even know what it is. It's not a mood, it's not a feeling - it's something else beyond that. Apathy, maybe? I don't even know. I do all my schoolwork, and I guess I'm learning but in a really detached, disengaged manner.

York is a beautiful city. I'm surrounded by history, artifcacts, tea, coffee, books, friendly people - a lot of acquaintances and perhaps a couple of friends - so why do I find myself not really caring about any of it? The thing is, it would be normal for me to be worrying that people didn't like me or that I wasn't meeting enough people or something along those lines. But I'm not sure I even care whether or not I have friends here. I just don't care. I'm perfectly content to wander through the city totally alone, without purpose, without talking to anyone - and that's so unlike me that I'm surprised by myself.

Would I be feeling different at home? My initial reaction would be to say yeah, I would - but I'm not sure that's true either. Maybe there's something in the world right now that's causing a general sense of dissatisfaction and unease.

I was partway through a philosophy lecture the other day when I realized I hadn't put the date on my notes for the lecture. I couldn't remember what day it was and I had to ask the person next to me and then when they told me I remembered that Manney has been gone for a half a year now. Graham posted about this too, but I didn't leave a comment because I'm not sure I have any words left on that subject. I've talked about it and talked about it and written about it and thought about it so much that I feel like I've exhausted the possibilities. I'm not looking for closure or anything - because I know that the closest I'm going to come to 'closure' is knowing at the very core of myself that I'm never going to get any answers. There aren't going to be any revelations or certainties. There just aren't. And maybe soemtimes certain small things will always make me cry, or at least tear up. It's unavoidable. And on that note, I've got issues with the term 'closure.' What is that supposed to mean, anyway? That you reach a certain point where you can close off that part of yourself, where it's finished, ended with you? Because I don't think it ever happens that way.

My grandma is really sick, too. It sounds like things could sort of go either way with her at this point, although she's making small movements towards temporary recovery. She is an astonishing and amazing lady. She's beeen in a nursing home for years now but her mind is still pretty clear. I don't have all that many memories of her from before that anymore, just bits and snatches. Clear hot summer days at their house at the lake, raspberries ripe in their garden - there was always a huge garden, she has the greenest thumb of anyone I've ever known. Lots of food memories. She hated to have leftovers and always urged everyone to eat more! More! Gingersnaps and chocolate chip cookies in a a big jar in the cupboard next to the sink. Buttermilk pancakes in the morning. Crocheting and knitting - I have an afghan she made for me when I was seven. Mostly I remember her smiling.

This is an extremely autumnal sort of post. Maybe that's fitting.

I don't even know what I want to be different. I don't know what I'm expecting from myself, if anything at all.