I’m so tired.
Today has been yuck and messy.
Amid the blah there was brief respite provided by a conversation with my dad… but even then, I faked it a little; laughing when I wanted to cry, playing the fool because ‘backing myself’ seemed a little too committal in my fragile state. I ask you not read that as a reflection on him- it’s not! My dad is great. It’s just that I’m not. Not today.
Today is just hard, and I’m tired.
*NB The ‘real stuff’ is a little further down the page- I’ll even throw in a heading so you know where to start (I’m super generous like that), so feel free to skip this section if you’re easily bored by navel-gazing re-introductions.
So, I’ve been in what I’m describing as an ‘Ecclesiastical’ funk. And not ecclesiastical as in the dictionary definition- that would be too ‘mainstream’, I talking more the general existential angst that permeates the biblical book of Ecclesiastes. You know, the whole “what is even the point?” deal. This is my funk. Nothing is new under the sun. Nothing will be said that hasn’t been said before. Consonants may be slightly rearranged, inflections added, but thoughts are rarely new.
I feel as if my writing is just noise, merely an addition to the already cacophonous internet. There are plenty who say what I say, and execute it with a written cadence and elegance I lack. The thing is; I’m actually okay with it. Really, truly okay. So feel free to put the finger violins and feigned sympathy away. I’m not sad. I’m not wallowing in self pity, I simply chose to remove myself from what I felt was no longer serving a purpose… that and writer’s block. It’s easy to take the self-care, community-conscious high ground when your creative juices have soured, or straight up stagnated! But then a thing happened…
I’ve spent a good deal of time pondering friendships and their variable dynamics.
I love my alone time, but I am deeply relational, and when I am with my friends, my people, my tribe, I am not content with superficial chit chat. I desire to go deep.