Why bother?

Do you ever have those days when you just say "Why am I bothering?"
What is the point of all of this drudgery? Why am I subjecting myself to this completely unsatisfying life? For money to continue on through this? What have I come to?

I am having one of those days.
It is not that I dislike my life. Let me start by saying I actually really love my life. I have a good steady job that is easy enough, I have a loving husband, I have sweet fur babies, I have the most amazing friends in the world, and I have these kick ass hobbies that I adore. I am healthy, I am smart, I am talented, and I am comfortable. It is not a bad life.

That being said, I feel ...pointless today.
I look around my little gray cube, at my stack of regression testing, and my endless stack of bills, and think that this is not where I should be.

I used to have dreams. Big dreams. If you have asked me ten years ago where I would be the very last thing I would have said was in an office doing QA. I mean seriously, QA is some ridiculously dull and thankless work. The only thing I achieve at the end of the day is a headache from staring at my computer all day.

I went to college for theater. I was going to be a star. I was going to be in this electric creative world where I made stories come to life. I was going to be so much more than myself. Whether performing, or costuming, or whatever I landed in, I was going to be doing this.

And then I just wasn't.

Did I lose my fire? My drive? My desire?
Did those that fire burn out, or did I just let it die?

Is this really all there is for me? Am I going to go on day to day, living paycheck to paycheck, in this terribly beige world?

I have done nothing and I fear sometimes that I never will.
I don't want to belittle what I do get to do. I would never say that performing for the Renaissance Festival isn't the most amazingly rewarding thing, because it is amazing and I love it. Is that going to be my big accomplishment though? Is that enough for me?

I love to write but what have I written? A blog that a handful of my friends and, according to the stats, a person in Germany reads (Hi by the way!). At least I assume people are reading it, I have no real proof they are.

I feel like I could be so much more, that I should be so much more. Something. Anything. Only I am not.
I am just sitting here, in my gray cube, with my stack of regression testing, feeling sorry for myself.

I will be fine. I will sit here and pout and feel sorry for myself and then I will get over it. I always do.
I will remember that I have a wonderful life that I love, and I have all the potential in the world, I simply have to seize it and be brave enough to do something with it.

I can be more.
I will be more.

I bother because what other choice do I have?