And so the sun sets on my miserable little mountainside. The wind and rain have brought down all the leaves. Now I’ll have to find a way to get them all moved off of my grass and my driveway before they turn into moldy slime. But, for now, I’ll just look at them all from my window, from the relative safety of my home. I’ll just stay in here, as much as I can, and stay away from that expressway bridge. That one’s especially bumpy and slippery. Goodnight. Sleep.
"I’m always sad."
"Are there certain thoughts associated with the sadness?"
"No, the sadness is under the thoughts. It’s like when you’re on a camping trip, and it’s really cold, and you put on extra socks, and an extra sweater, but you still can’t get warm, because the coldness is in your bones."
"Do you hope to get away from it?"
"Not anymore. I just hope to come to peace with it."
Yeah. I’m that cold.
As the sun sets in the season, so does it set on my ordinary life. Upheaval is my middle name, so as I near fifty, my whole life will turn upside down. Again. I keep dredging through the muck, but I honestly don’t know why. Left foot, right foot, hand full of meds, days and weeks fly by without purpose or reason. Will the sun come up tomorrow? We shall see.