POSSIBILITY? HOPE?

11:20 a.m.


We experience this infinite wonder
by waking up to reality
- Bhagavad Gita


This is a tough one right this minute. And damn near laughably funny. I certainly do not see how this obtains in any positive or meaningful way. Reality on 8th Avenue is not very pretty today. Moving forward in any chipper way is a struggle, plain and simple.


Bills. No money. No job. No immediate prospects. Hmm ... sounds as if I am a good and typical American. 


However, I have been trying to push through these dark times. I am not sure "hopeful" is really the right word. What is hard enough right now is to stay open to okayness. Media culture has shared so many stories of life mayhem that the mind goes to devastation and chaos rather than the just holding on. Or the getting by.


I am going to do a load of laundry and see if that helps improve my mood.


On another note, Emmylou throws herself around like discarded clothes. She plonks down 'bout anywhere to sleep and it is often in a less than convenient spot, I have kicked her, inadvertently, of course, as I walk through the house in the dark.


2:17 p.m.


Ride those mood swings! Ride 'em, cowgal. How dark is dark? Closer than anyone wants to be. 


What an interesting mind set or what fortunate brain chemistry to never consider choosing your own exit from this life. As it it a neural path that is not untrodden in my brain, it comes up as option when problems seem unsolvable, untenable, and overwhelming. I don't spend too much nevermind there, though. Think of it as almost turning down a one-way street and then before the slightest bit of discomfit or damage is done, you remember that the street runs the other way, and you just keep driving. Think of it as nearly stepping into something unpleasant with your best pair of shoes.


These days, the suicide of my friend Barbara comes up pretty rapidly when I almost step in it. I think about how she spent so much time planning it. How much her friends miss her. And how they don't understand. When I am close to that darkness, I can recall my impotent frustration and despair about Carl's choice to not deal and the anger, confusion, and loss that Barbara still manifests. And I can look the other way toward possibility. Possibility is not hope.


12:12 a.m.


From where I am writing, Barbara seems to have been sitting pretty pretty. She had left a job as ignomious practices had compromised her pride and sanity. She left money and property to people. She wasn't at the end of her resources, the end of favors and help from friends. She had the wherewithal to organize her departure with most t's crossed and i's dotted. 


Seems to me, without putting the merest judgment on it, that, at a certain point, Barbara put her energy and considerable talents to dying. Energy that might have gone into remaking her life. I am in no way saying that the pain was insurmountable, clearly that was how she felt, what she could see. I am sorry for her choice and even more for her pain.


I'm still fighting my way uphill.