UNDERWATER UNDER QUICKSAND

Prospect Park prospect, 11.26.11.

It may well have been noted that I am not writing much these last few days. I am not in personal "end times" mode, but I am quite overwhelmed? stymied? stopped? by, not only my life situation, but the other darkness that is out there. One finds oneself underwater which is under quicksand which lies under a toxic event.

Great colors. Too bad the I couldn't get a better framing.

Distancing oneself from the biochemical depression cycle is all work, all the time. (Does it not seem that all the time should be one word by now, as in although, althetime?) I am once again on an alcohol abstinence policy, as anything contributing to a system of a down is a bad idea. I am working on a schedule that prioritizes a twenty-minute walk in Prospect Park every day. And looking for something beyond the quicksand rather than going closer to the bottom.

But it comes back. I slept happily, or at least comfortably, ensconsed in all the down of my bed, Emmylou quietly dozing near my head, but within a few seconds, the big D was back. I could feel the parted clouds of cozy contentment and then, there it was leaning on my mind and heart. Fortunately, I have mostly trained myself to not address or open up to misery and despair when, for any moment, I am safe and comfortable, and likely to be so for the next little while.

Can't beat Fall colors.

If you aren't prone to clinical, biochemical depression, you might not know or understand how this works. And once you are on that dancefloor, you cannot get off of it and out into another club until that music ends. It is not even as simple as a change of/in situation. A change of venue and some different steps help quite a bit, but it that chemical process has to subside.

Enough with the metaphors. There will be more.