Such is my want and need to write -- anything. So much is whole and preserved; encased in golden sap gone agate-like from time under pressure.
It's all there in my head. So (too) much to focus on. Sicknesses of numerable stripes. Mind-numbing chemistry. This (job loss), that (infections viral and bacterial), and the other (medication juggling). Oh. . .and the other-other: my cat has gone missing. I seem to be getting shit on from several directions at once.
Shit or shaved truffle; it's all me in the middle for better or worse. My battles. My decisions. My life. Certainly I would much rather be writing stories, essays, or any number of banal utterances. But, I can't right now. There are too many tasks competing for my attention. Writing for fun and for mental health has been squeezed out; marginalized. Very frustrating, to say the least.
Alas, that I am sitting here at two in the ayem saying this much feels like progress. I shall be triumphant and my return to wit will be as such. Until then, don't stop stopping by, faithful "readers". You're faith is in evidence at the bottom of this page - seven hits since the last time I surfed by. Thank you.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
i hope that you will be ok. my thoughts are with you.
Thanks, Anonymous Thoughts.
Post a Comment