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Happy end of the first half of 2012.
I still have new years cards to write. For my staff, i shall write them a happy beginning of the fiscal year.
I have had a delicious long nap yesterday afternoon and a long night's sleep.
So many little threads of thought and wish and connection lie around me. I've dropped the thread on almost everything, it seems, except extended family whom i would call as i drove to the office.
Last weekend, i missed writing poetry. There was a point in grad school when i felt the poetry leaving me. There were some brief exercises when i was out in California: a few car triggered speculations (prose poems about someone i've seen), some haiku, some poems from found words.
I feel like a fresh egg, blank white canvas on the outside, unjelled potential on the inside. I crack open and fill the context around me; when will i jell into my own?
The threads of connection with others are the hardest for me to make sense of, raw and stringy as i am. I feel a desire to be connected, a desire that i can trace back to a child looking into lit evening windows and knowing other lives were being carried out. The impulse seems impossible, yet not completely so. If i could just hold your hand for a moment, sending my love to you through eye contact, if that were possible and enough. Turning that love into words, words just for you -- that effort doesn't scale.
There are my hermit needs.
I'm pondering switching from Prozac to Wellbutrin. I have appreciated the boost of an antidepressant but i do feel the detachment i have from the grief and pain due to work is also leading to general detachment. I'm afraid to give up any assistance in making it through from waking to sleep, yet i worry the sense of being null is more drug gift than inner truth. Wellbutrin, years ago, helped me be motivated. It did not take the tears away, so there were years i was on both. I think i am on an even enough keel now -- compared to when my boss was laid off -- that i can take the tears back.
But i'm not ready to lay down the help.
I still have new years cards to write. For my staff, i shall write them a happy beginning of the fiscal year.
I have had a delicious long nap yesterday afternoon and a long night's sleep.
So many little threads of thought and wish and connection lie around me. I've dropped the thread on almost everything, it seems, except extended family whom i would call as i drove to the office.
Last weekend, i missed writing poetry. There was a point in grad school when i felt the poetry leaving me. There were some brief exercises when i was out in California: a few car triggered speculations (prose poems about someone i've seen), some haiku, some poems from found words.
I feel like a fresh egg, blank white canvas on the outside, unjelled potential on the inside. I crack open and fill the context around me; when will i jell into my own?
The threads of connection with others are the hardest for me to make sense of, raw and stringy as i am. I feel a desire to be connected, a desire that i can trace back to a child looking into lit evening windows and knowing other lives were being carried out. The impulse seems impossible, yet not completely so. If i could just hold your hand for a moment, sending my love to you through eye contact, if that were possible and enough. Turning that love into words, words just for you -- that effort doesn't scale.
There are my hermit needs.
I'm pondering switching from Prozac to Wellbutrin. I have appreciated the boost of an antidepressant but i do feel the detachment i have from the grief and pain due to work is also leading to general detachment. I'm afraid to give up any assistance in making it through from waking to sleep, yet i worry the sense of being null is more drug gift than inner truth. Wellbutrin, years ago, helped me be motivated. It did not take the tears away, so there were years i was on both. I think i am on an even enough keel now -- compared to when my boss was laid off -- that i can take the tears back.
But i'm not ready to lay down the help.
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