I feel the withdrawal of not writing. Not posting. I feel a bit lost. We were given an hour of light in the morning, subtracted from the fall of dusk, and even there, it recedes daily and will continue to do so for another 6 weeks, after which the return of light will be a slow curve. It’s cold, the wet-cold of the Pacific Northwest, although not nearly the cold of the Northeast, it is dressed in such damp dour cloth, it is hard to bear. The wetness, which I treasure in hot showers, is cold and makes me think of misery.
I am not depressed, and have not been depressed since I moved into this region of extremes of dark and light. I wouldn’t mind the rain at all, if I didn’t have to drive in it. I found myself complaining to anyone who would listen, at a restaurant diner, sitting at a table with strangers after a poetry reading last Friday night, that I cannot see and it gets worse every year. My brother, who reveled in colors after his cataract surgery a couple of years ago, is now struggling through a detached retina, hoping not to lose sight, which I too, pray for him not to lose.
My brother’s birthday was 11/10/11. His daughter, my niece, posted a celebration of 11/11/11 on Facebook, and I was bemused. Yesterday, 11/12/11 was my son’s birthday, he is 42, and probably worked all day, even though it was a Saturday. The anniversary of his marriage was 11/05/11, and my daughter-in-law’s birthday is 11/29/11, which happens to be the same day as my son’s father’s birthday. Not to mention Thanksgiving and the need to start thinking about sending Christmas presents to my grandsons. I have three trips planned between now and the new year.
There are months when I cannot float in my own bath, oblivious of the days. There have been years where something was on my datebook day and night, month after month, I don’t know how I did that, but I do know that it made me crazy and miserable. After this past summer of intense solitude and writing, I am feeling the panic that I associate with my inability to hold everything in one bowl: working, making travel plans, remembering dates, and being kind.
Instead of writing, I am purposely trying to edit poems, but I woke this morning wondering if I had lost the access I had to writing the poems. Probably not, I’ll probably have another run of poems. Probably. But the feeling lost feeling is, I believe, directly and totally associated with not writing.
There, I think I just made a connection.