Sometimes I hesitate to write posts that are about less-than-happy topics, because I’d rather uplift people than bring them down, but I’m inspired by “The Healing Power of Sadness” by Juansen Dizon (Lonely Blue Boy), to which I can relate from past experience and new nigglings of old emotion. None of us always feel happy. Yes, it’s good to feel better if we can, but not feeling good is all part of this massive experience. To suppress the latter is to make a lie of the former.
At the times in recent years when I’ve stared at the aftermath of exploded dreams or in the face of horrors, I have felt so weary. Soul-tired. Sapped in a way that I cannot replenish with sleep or movement or hope. And I wonder why I’m doing all this: toiling toward Ireland, living in and on other people’s property, struggling to make sense of senseless things. Well, what on Earth am I supposed to do? There’s nothing else, no other calling of my heart to action.
So I wake up to the alarm again, and I fill out survey after mindless survey, enter one sweepstakes after another, do another day of work, day after day — all, I hope, toward some better place that the so-called gurus say is already within me. Fuck them. What’s in me —
And my grandma distracts me because she needs to pee and has vehement opinions to share about her little world. Haha! So it goes.