Wallowing

These are days I drift in darker dreaming. Maybe it’s my mind’s way of off-setting outward brightness. I’m always happier in shadow. When my mood seems at its most up and down, why not let the tide set the tempo? I used to say that I was lower in my younger years, but I’ve realized this isn’t strictly true. I’ve just gotten better at doing the dance with depression, exchanging pleasantries in passing, sharing a song or two before moving on. No more wallowing for me, I’ve learned to ride the rhythm deep enough that it swings me out the other side. It’s no accident that most of my writing is on the dark side. It’s my version of gunning my engine at the top of a hill, plummeting down till all I see is the bottom rising. But you gotta to follow through. That dark momentum carries me gently back to light, softly cresting the next hilltop to come. Shifting into neutral and miserably coasting is sure to leave you stranded. I’d rather come screaming.

February 19, 2026
Outram, Nova Scotia

Year 19, Day 6675 of my daily journal.