After The Ice Storm A Day After Power Is Restored

What is it about this time of year that fills me so with heavy-hearted feelings? Is it the endless gray skies above me? Perhaps it is the weather in general. Broken trees and soggy ground to walk on feeling as if I'm slowly sinking inside myself as the winter turns fully into view. I do not know what it is about the cold gray atmosphere. Perhaps it locks us a little bit more inside ourselves. Perhaps it is the pangs of increased self-reflection; insecurities about the future and our lives not being exactly as we've wished them to be. I feel depressed sometimes, that much is a given. I think perhaps we all do. What would suffice to change it? I can't change my emotions as if changing a pair of shoes. But oh how I truly wish that sometimes I could.

Winter is coming along. The holidays are coming along. The end of another year is soon and every year thus passed can never be again. Sometimes that is nice and sometimes it is sad to see. I see my friends, present and past. I see them change and marry and move and bear children and cultivate their collective industries of practice and study and then I see me in the backround, lost, looking long into the future, with a grim expression of unsurity before my face. Every man and woman lives their own life and see's that it accomplishes the necessities they feel are required. I think what I am really dealing with here is youth. All the hard facts about what it is to be young and scared and constantly uncertain. And youth is present though it is fleeting and I am scared that I have not taken any necessary steps to prepare for its eventual leave.

Perhaps this too shall pass. A good day is in the future, I am certain. The things I dread are impermanent. The hardships I bear are not so hard, if only studied a bit. I am just a mammal, a human being feeling the limbic overload, and not being able to anylize it so well. Whatever the matter, I will disperse. My tone is not cheering, most of all not so to me. Things will be better. This I know through time. I do rely on that. I rely on the independent nature of Time's prevalent response to all this mess. The world is in shambles, just like me. Full of grace and understanding, prone to outbursts, mistakes and change. Lost and uncertain, self-destructive, productive, ironical, witty, arrogant, and free. Pregnant with hope, infected with pain. The world, as I, is a living thing.