I found myself up late last night, reading and writing. It's a bad habit since I don't really ever get a chance to sleep in. Often, when the alarm goes off, I feel more tired than when I went to bed.
At about 2 a.m., I could feel myself getting sad for no apparent reason. It just happened, like some kind of dark weather front moving in. I couldn't fight it off, and suddenly I was just crying uncontrollably. Not just sniffing and wiping my eyes, but big, gulping sobs that I was afraid would wake my wife or puppy. It continued until I finally fell asleep, despondent and exhausted.
I'm not sure what triggered the tears. Lack of sunlight? Stress? Impending holidays? The Felon in Chief and his band of Merry Morons? A piece of bad fruit?
Billy Collins takes a bite of an apple . . .
Quandary
by: Billy Collins
I was a little disappointed
in the apple I lifted from a bowl of fruit
and bit into on the way out the door,
fuzzy on the inside and lacking the snap of the ripe.
Yesterday it was probably perfect,
I figured, as I held it out before me,
soft red apple bearing my tooth marks,
as if I were contemplating the bust of Aristotle.
I considered all the people
who would be grateful to have this apple,
and others who might find it in their hearts
to kill me before slipping it into a pocket.
And I considered another slice
of the world’s population, too,
those who are shielded from anything
as offensive as a slightly imperfect apple.
Then I took a second bite, a big one,
and pitched what was left
over the tall hedges hoping to hit on the head
a murderer or one of the filthy rich out for a stroll.
There's a lot going on in the world that is simply depressing. Starving people for whom an apple would be a feast. Refugees who have no homes or homelands. Filthy rich people hell bent on making the poor even poorer by hook, crook, and lies. Wannabe dictators and their brain-dead followers. Willful ignorance and rampant hatred.
All of that is enough to keep the makers of Prozac in business until the next millennium.
When I woke this morning, the sadness was still with me, and it has remained my constant companion all day long. I tried to keep myself busy, picking out and rehearsing music for this weekend's church services. Taking my puppy for a few long walks, despite bitter winds ad snow. The distractions helped for a little while, but, as soon as I stopped playing keyboard or got home from a stroll, the sadness came back doubly strong.
I have a feeling this bout of melancholia is the beginning of one of the blue funks I've experienced off and on since I was a teen. They can last a few days or a few months. Today, I found myself obsessively thinking about my brother, Kevin, who passed in 2014. He had a pretty difficult life, suffering a stroke that ended his career as a plumber and left him dependent on a walker during his final years. Yet, he maintained his sense of humor to the last, quick with a new joke or pun.
An apple a day isn't going to keep this sadness away, even if said apple is ripe and sweet instead of soft and fuzzy.
So, dear disciples, please be patient with me in the coming days/weeks/months. I will try to find light in the dark, joy in the bone-crushing cold.
Saint Marty will end this post with a picture of his puppy who crawled into his lap this morning, licked and licked his face until he couldn't help but laugh.
❤️
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