There are now three drafts waiting in my blog listing. Oh, help me not have this be the fourth.
Existential, um, uncertainty has dropped by. I don't welcome any univited visitors. Imagine how I feel about this.
There you are, head under the shower, and you realize you've just asked yourself if your life counts for anything. Rather than having become an expert at anything, you are a generalist and they say a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. In retrospect, all you can see, through tears and pelting water, are bad choices. Yet instead of the sense of defeat which comes from depression, someone is saying things like, "Oh yeah?" I don't want to jinx this, but it may be that angst is becoming more bark than bite. How sweet would that be?
This is not a state which normally causes mobilization, but I feel more like James Cagney than Poor Pitiful Pearl. I'd happily shove a grapefruit in the face of whoever wants to stand around wringing their hands when there is no actual external cause for gloom. I can manufacture doubt and then leave it in my own lap...here, clean this up.
I can't bear the thought of another unposted draft. I won't pretend that this represents a complete thought. We have the capacity to be our own greatest champions and the bullies who torment us. In this vast epic we play every part. If we feel some version of crazy - no wonder. We aren't. A part of us is unwilling to say out loud that the pieces don't match, the rules are contrary and inconsistent and pretty much nothing makes sense. And a cheerful voice, not too far away, is saying, "Yes. Now you understand."