?

Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

The Good Drugs

St. John's Wort seems to have been working its good works upon me. I'm again feeling something approaching a normal energy level, with only the normal existential melancholy of midnight when I stay awake past the time when I really ought to sleep.

I suppose that's a side effect. When I'm at a normal energy level, with my mind in its normal place, I never want to go to sleep at night. Not until I'm exhausted.

I think I'm 'present' again. But then, I never know if I'm absent until I look back afterwards. I refer to that, afterwards, as the 'black cloud' -- if I only have my textual word for having lived through a period, plus scattered snapshots, but I can't really identify with myself from then, if I have a difficult time putting myself back into my own shoes -- then I say that I was under a black cloud, and I can't remember. And I can't. I have most of my junior year of high school lost. I was on autopilot. Autopilot is for concerts, not living.

At least interacting with and being there for Little Fayoumis leaves me present, mostly, because he's got homework questions, and life questions, and so forth. He does cute kid things, and I write them up, and I stay here. Same with the cats. It's perilously close to doing that which I despised BJ's mother for doing: she defined herself through her friends, pets, and extracurricular activities. With her, it was as if she had given up living for herself, and was clinging to her friends, family, and activities as if they were life itself. I'm still trying to maintain myself as an entity with an independant joy in life, and my joy in friends and activities as a side effect of my being myselves, rather than the whole point of it.
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
Powered by LiveJournal.com
Designed by yoksel