I’m not overly fond of summer heat. Not that it is summer yet. It’s only May 15th. The official date for summer is June 21, over a month away. But we have the heat. The house is warm. There’s beads of perspiration on my forehead and lips. And I feel like the shits. The day started out fine. I was mostly my normal self. I was getting up, dressing up and showing up and doing my stuff. Things haven’t been easy but I was handling it. Look – it isn’t even the 21st of May. The greenhouse is in full production, the 6 raised beds are planted and the home garden is mostly planted. I would call that handling it, wouldn’t you?

So what the hell happened? Did I finally lose it? All I know is I feel bad – sometimes after lunch. In the past, writing has been my tool of investigation and soothing. I could write through anything and everything. Now I’m not so sure. I’ve lost the rhythm. The words have lost their magic. It’s still worth a try to get it back. Not doing anything is not good for me. At least I’ll be moving. Fingers count. I’m tapping it out with no outside interference. No one knows my ‘bad’. They don’t know what it is like. I hate advice like: Did you remember to take your Prozac? Be happy. As if I wouldn’t if I could.

I’ve decided not to fight my feelings/moods too much. There must be a reason that they’re pestering me. All things do passed. That much I have learned. And there are things that we must accept and endure. It is also true that I can run but there’s no place to hide. I might as well stay and face the music. Knowing that also brings a bit of ease. A bit is all I need. It’s the light at the end of the tunnel.