I felt strangely unhappy.
Not strangely unhappy, just that I didn’t expect to be so void of happy feelings. Not unhappy, but not happy.
I am usually so full of emotions that I get frightened when I don’t feel anything.
And the fact that I do not feel anything beyond a slight distaste, and perhaps a teeny weeny bit of resentment, disturbs me.
Are we sometimes not who we think we are?
Sometimes, i really think we live in a world of manufactured truths- You lie, I lie, we know we are all lying, but we cannot, must not, break the spell of lies simply because our fabrications are necessary to maintain our sanity and the order of things.