Not journaling, definitely not crying.

I’m not journaling. The pretty notebook I use to share my thoughts and feelings in lies nearby on the floor. I’m only feet away from getting it done, but my avoidant-urge is strong, my counselor’s admonishments about the importance of letting things out notwithstanding. I’d blame my depression, but using that as an excuse when…… Continue reading Not journaling, definitely not crying.

First times, revisited.

I’m not writing much these days. Heat, apathy, and sickness, both my own and familial, have contributed to my sense of futility and ennui. I’m uninterested in almost everything, save for bad news. It’s good when one’s view of a dark and depressing world is confirmed. Bring on the stories about climate change and ugly…… Continue reading First times, revisited.

Festering and wallowing.

June 21, 2021. Festering and wallowing. We don’t know words the way we think we know words. A news story on my morning feed trumpeted the “hefty fine” a moronic, fireworks-spewing joyrider faced: one thousand dollars. The fine is many things – ridiculous, a joke, insufficient – but hefty it’s not. I’m left with the…… Continue reading Festering and wallowing.