There are times when gray creeps in nearly imperceptibly from the edges, gradually fogging thought, emotion, and, eventually, one's sense of self. Depression. Interminable and relentless.
Maybe it should have occurred to me when writing, an activity that's sustained me for as long as I can remember, became impossible, that something had gone awry. Or when curiosity waned and I stopped reading. Or maybe when the camera began gathering dust, as even the most basic way of expressing myself failed.
I'll tell you that I'm feeling much better now. I don't know however, that normalcy has returned quite yet. I also suspect that normal isn't quite what it was 5 years ago and recognizing it in it's new form might take a little doing.
I started blogging over a decade ago as a way of sorting things out post divorce. My last post was nearly 2 years ago. In an effort to think my way out of what I viewed as an extended slump, I'd decided to start blogging again. A few days later I had the The Fat Pit Bull put down and words failed me completely. Dad's lung cancer returned and bit by painful bit he declined until he died on June 19th, 2016. Father's Day. Coincidentally, the Fat Pit Bull was put down on June 19th 2015. (This year on June 19th, I'm starting a weeklong Fundamentals of Bookbinding course. Gotta have something to look forward to). In the middle of all this mayhem, three years of painfully clomping around on a cane proved too much and I finally had my knee replaced. And my (then) significant other nearly died from an abdominal aneurysm. While he was banging a 26 year old. Yeah, when it rains, it pours. There's more but it'll be for another day. Or days.
And it brings me back to this blog. I nearly deleted it a few times. But I think right now, I need it and maybe the history, the random stories of my life it contains. I need to think through who I was and sort out a bit who I'm becoming. That's not a job for twitter or facebook where long thoughts aren't exactly encouraged and frankly it's just too damn loud to think sometimes. Piecing one's life together isn't a linear process.