Going Inkless

Have you ever needed to move in a hurry - packed your boxes with only the most general sense of order, or worse yet, completely randomly? You may have started with the best intentions, but by the time you get where you're going, you end up unpacking a box that yields both toilet paper and forks. It made sense when it went in there. It might take weeks to find something you can't live without, but you quickly locate a large supply of nuts and bolts to furniture you no longer own. Sometimes, a cherished possession ends up lost forever. You'll always have a tiny frail hope that it will turn up one day (though you may have searched every box,) but you sadly have to content yourself with just the memory of it. Welcome to my mind. The attic of my mind is crammed full of boxes. Boxes on top of boxes. Some of their cardboard sides bulge out to accomodate the bulkier thoughts and memories. Some sag with the weight of them. There are new boxes here, supported by old musty ones patche

Recently, I confessed to a pen pal that I had been struggling with a little depression a few letters back. I described to her the steps I had taken to shake it off and apologized if my mood had filtered into the letter. We correspond through audiotape, so I was particularly concerned about the infectious nature of vocal tone, and I also didn't want her worrying about me. The recording is just a point in time and not representative of the whole roundness of things as I've described in earlier posts. My friend responded with astonishment. "Your voice is always so cheerful and positive," she explained, "I didn't think you got depressed about many things." The truth is, everyone gets depressed. There is some comfort in that. We are all united in the experience. We can let go of any self-defeating feelings of inadequacy at our lack of perfect happiness because they're all based on illusion. Everyone feels sad or lonely or small. Everyone gets frustrated a