Wednesday, June 18, 2008


I keep trying to write a post about hope (I know, I repeat myself sometimes) but keep coming back to the blues. Not the music, I love the music, but the mood.

I have the blues. I'm whiney, mopey, dopey and just a pill to spend time with. I'm tired of listening to myself complain. Crying is boring (though cathartic and sometimes revelatory) but sometimes it's just all I can do. I've not been able to write about hope because right now? It's not a big part of my emotional vocabulary.

I know it will pass. The blues have visited before and likely will again, an unwelcome house guest who eventually leaves me with a mess to clean up, but does leave. For now though, it just sucks. I feel like an unwelcome stranger in my own life.

I keep trying to think of it metaphorically - Yes, this is an important part of the hero's journey - and then decide that's just so much bull. I feel crummy.

I keep trying to remind myself that, realistically speaking, I have very little to complain about. I'm fairly healthy, I'm loved, I love. When you get down to it, those basics make me lucky. That doesn't really help when I'm in one of the potholes I've been encountering. Potholes aren't rational places.

I keep trying to think my way through and we all know that doesn't work, but feeling these feelings just makes it worse. There doesn't seem to be much room between thinking and feeling right now.

Phooey. I know, it will pass. I'm not the scum of the earth even if I'm feeling that way on occasion these days. And this isn't the whiniest, most self-indulgent blog post on the planet, though I think it's in the running.

Thanks for indulging me in this post, it's useful writing it out. And thanks for your patience, your regularly scheduled blog will return soon.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer Creative Commons License

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True Stories, Honest Lies by Laura S. Packer is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
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