Call me Socrates

I've realized that the trio of postings I've offered so far exude a I-wish-I-was-a-poet-but-I'll-settle-for-a-philosopher kind of vibe: a little whiney and lacking in real substance. But unfortunately my life just doesn't have a lot of substance to offer these days. I work full-time at a job that is great, but certainly not worth writing about. I'm married, but my husband is in school so I don't really get a lot of interaction time with him so there's only a sprinkling of anecdotes to be shared. And I don't have kids so I can't chronicle the joys and travails of motherhood like so many of my good friends do in their blogs. In short, I'm a real bore with an artist's complex.

And the pressure to enter a daily gem is a little bit much for me. As you can see, I've failed to do so for several days now. Mostly, because I was feeling icky and under the weather -- whatever that means because aren't we all under the weather every day? (There's that philosopher rearing her unpoetic head once again.) Anyway, I'm feeling much better so I wanted to write a few lines.

Here they are: Life is what you make it.

At last, a philosophy I think anyone can accept ... even from little old me.