Iwoke up this morning with a bad case of the blues. I’m not really sure what to write. Depression has her way with me in my sleep and then clings to me like a caul when my eyes open and I have to pretend to be functional.
Things seem OK, then not OK. The tiny tragedies that make me crumble taper off, then return in a full-force gale. I can’t handle some of the basic pressures of being alive. There seems to be no end-game or goal – no purpose – to any of it. We are born. We become instruments of a machine far larger than our minds can comprehend. We reproduce. We die.
We die.
What an impossible burden to place on a species, the consciousness of death. And we, among all of our neighbors on this planet, are alone in our understanding of Death’s inevitability. I’m not…
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rimaalalamy 