In case you haven't noticed, I've been out of sorts lately. And there are several possible roots to the problem, most notable of which is the stinking cold virus I'm finally getting over. I see how the posts are getting smaller and smaller as I attempt to avoid the morass of moroseness. I'm not really all that fond of the "woe is me" kind of blogs that go on and on about problems. I'm sure they are cathartic for the writer, it just bores me as a reader (of course a witty pen will make up for that). I wonder if that has to do with upbringing. I come from a rather stiff lot, we empathize with your problems and then we expect you to suck it up. Anyway, I do not wish for this to be a place to moan about various maladies. Like the blister I got from the Pop Tarts frosting. (shut up, they were free with a coupon)
I prefer to paint my life with the "magical journey" spectacles. It's like Woody Allen. Does he really see his life as shown in Annie Hall and Manhattan? Yes and No. The reality surely differs, but the interpretation is probably similar to how he lodges his experiences in memory. I know my memories are stripped clean of all but the most negative of experiences. What's left is a meadow of sunshine with only a few black holes.
I'm certainly not going to remember how I felt sick and depressed for two weeks in August 2006. That is unless I come back and read this again.
And for the record, I finally feel like myself again today. Hooray!!!