Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Maybe Mary is right. Maybe I do suffer a chemical imbalance. It would help explain a lot of things. It would explain the brief periods of elation and joy followed by days of emptiness so debilitating that I’m sure there is no point in going on. Not that I have the courage to commit suicide. I don’t. Which makes me wonder. If I’m sure life is a sham, then why don’t I do away with myself? If I’m so useless to myself and to everyone I love, what am I hanging around for? Unless the mood swings are just another game I play in order to keep from facing the truth about myself, whatever that is. That I’m lazy, I suppose. That I’m unable to put others’ cares before my own. I just don’t know. When I feel good, when my mind is clear, when I’ve accidentally had a good night’s sleep and wake up feeling eager, it’s as if I am a boy again and the world waiting outside is perfect and new. And I’m always amazed when it happens, and pleased. It’s like standing in a thick fog, and then suddenly the fog lifts to reveal a shimmering ocean. And then I remember I’m alive, and I start to notice things. I notice the breeze moving the hair on my arms. I notice the courtship of insects. And I remember that this is why I am here. To be alive. To recognize the possibility in things. To believe. To understand my place. Then, all too soon, the fog returns. It’s like living in a lighthouse. Parts of the coastline are blotted out. Then the world withdraws. Into the roar of emptiness.
[From Chapter 2, A Listening Thing]
Note: Through September 22, Cosmopsis Books is offering my novel,
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The first printing is limited to 150 numbered copies.
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