I can’t put togeth­er a coher­ent thought late­ly. It’s all just bits and pieces rac­ing through my head. I have six drafts open at once, but I get nowhere. And since I can’t write, I have no cathar­sis.

Only pent up emo­tions and thoughts and ideas and love and crazy and lust and wor­ry.

 

Maybe that’s why it feels like I’m bare­ly hold­ing on to my san­i­ty. I don’t under­stand myself any­more. There are so many ups and downs in a day. Even my nights are haunt­ed by dreams, some­times won­der­ful, most­ly scary. I’ve been try­ing to find mean­ing in the lit­tle things; bet­ter ways of chop­ping rose­mary, adjust­ments to the form when prac­tic­ing Tai Chi, new strum­ming pat­terns on the uke.