It’s been hard to write, though not from a lack of inspiration. Far from it; it seems like there’s a smile or tear hidden in every little detail of an Autumn day. The problem is I don’t have the time. I don’t reflect on an emotional rush until I have a chance to write by a window in the dark, and those opportunities are getting more and more rare.
That means I’m getting better at putting my feelings on hold, though no better at figuring out whether that kind of distraction is a good idea. I imagine it’ll all catch up to me at some point, and I’ll find out soon enough.
It’s a sure sign that the Cipralex is out of my system. I’ve decided that being able to feel is better than being numb, even if that means not knowing which way things are going to go. Right now, I’m just appreciative of frugal forms of happiness again, my latest discovery being the feeling of a healthy lather rinsing clean from your hair.
Maybe my time away did me some good. I lost a week, but I’m feeling recharged. I’ve been productive. I’ve been social. I’ve even been exercising.
Now I’m ready to begin again.