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Posts tagged ‘autobiography’

Aug 3

23 Comments

depression is a dirty word

Basically, I’m in a good mood right now, so I can barely bring myself to write this.  I’d rather be writing the next post, a happy post, which is filling my head tonight.  It’s hard for me to even explain or convey the feelings of the last three weeks, because I don’t feel that way anymore.  Of course, that’s the nature of it, that’s part of it. But if I don’t do this tonight, I never will; I will let it pass and I won’t think of it again…until the next time.

So here it is… continue reading…

Jul 30

11 Comments

life is smelly


I’m in a down-swing right now and I’m trying to fight it.  There are moments and hours when I can, when I’m enjoying myself or distracted or whatever.  But that feeling of unhappiness is underlying all; it’s still there under the surface.  It is a thing with claws.  It grips and tears at you just to keep its hold.

I don’t want to dwell on it here, though.  I don’t want everything I write to be melancholy.  So, I’m thinking that now is a great time to give some focus to Practicing Thankful.  continue reading…

Jul 27

28 Comments

I don’t feel like writing this post

Is it okay not to “feel it”?  Because I just don’t feel it.  I commented recently that I have all kinds of things on my mind right now, but I’m blank at the same time.  Does that happen to you?  Do you ever have a whirlwind of thought and emotion tearing through your brain…that just won’t come out in any kind of meaningful way?  Nick just wrote about when he was younger and more inclined to put down random thoughts without caring that they would impact no one, and that’s what I believe I need to do. continue reading…

Jul 18

something more still in its movement

8/21/92

There’s something about a summer evening.  It’s late August, Friday, 6pm.  I climb the face of this day as it fades from my grasping fingers.  With steady, easy strides it passes by me like a long-legged boy heading home.  This day too, like so many days before it, heads home to my memory.

How can I not be carried away with it? – back to a time before work, before responsibility.  I’m young again and spending time as children do.  Those were the years when summer lasted for as long as the school year, or so it seemed.  Every day was a free day.

But Friday was still special.

∞ ∞ ∞

5/3/93

My life seems to me like a movement of water, sometimes a tiny creek and sometimes this huge river.  Always moving toward the sea, toward something much larger, much more still in its movement.

This river slows and quickens on its own.  Often it feels like it’s stopped and then I realize that I’ve traveled ten miles further down the line than I thought.  Sometimes I move and can’t judge my own speed.

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