. December 7: Invisibly Enshrined, Dark Alley, Promise of Light

It was now clear sunrise. Soon the crew came on board in twos and threes; the riggers bestirred themselves; the mates were actively engaged; and several of the shore people were busy in bringing various last things on board. Meanwhile Captain Ahab remained invisibly enshrined within his cabin.

I fear that I have more in common tonight with Captain Ahab than the clear sunrise. 

I will apologize in advance for this post.  It is not going to be positive or upbeat.  After a long week of work and teaching, I'm feeling fairly stressed and down-spirited.  There is no news about my job in the medical office, and I have all kinds of grading and writing to get done.  Translation:  stress upon worry upon discouragement.

And that's just my opening paragraph.  Yes, I'm wallowing, even though I think wallowing is self-indulgent and narcissistic.  I know there are tons of people who are worse off than me.  There are wars and famines.  Migrants and refugees.  Unemployment and homelessness.  People who paid to see the movie The Nutcracker and the Four Realms.

In this season of light, all I can see is dark at the moment.  Usually, I'm all about Christmas cookies and movies and shopping and TV specials.  As I type this post in my living room, I haven't even turned on the Christmas tree.  Don't have Christmas music playing on my laptop.  I just realized that I've worked almost 25 years at a job that could possibly, in the next few weeks, go the way of the dodo.  I've been teaching at the university for the same amount of time, and I'm still considered contingent/part-time.  I get leftover courses.

So you see, I'm walking down a pretty dark alley right now.

This will pass, I know.  At the beginning of the semester, I was in a full-blown depression.  Struggling to put two thoughts together.  Panicked when I stood in front of a classroom of students.  Unable to sleep more than two or three hours at a time.  As the weeks have passed, I've been able to climb my way out of this hole.  However, I find myself sliding some tonight.

The world is in darkness right now.  I go to work in darkness.  Come home in darkness.  In a couple weeks, though, that will all start to change.  The scales will shift.  Light will slowly begin to take hold.  Night tilting toward day.  Winter toward spring.  Sadness toward joy.

Saint Marty is thankful for this eternal promise of renewal.