Going Through Spurts

*just another stream of conscious rambling attempt at poetry, clarity, staving off the inevitable blahs I feel coming on*

I shouldn’t be surprised, yet I always am. Trying desperately to find a bright spot in the encroaching gloom.
Rainy days breed rainy thoughts, and I am flooded in them.
I can plainly see the positive and the good. It shines and, at times, truly consumes me.
Then the clouds roll in.
There is no thunder.
No lightening.
Just gray from horizon to horizon.
It’s cold…and lonely…and my best bravado cannot keep the shading effect away.
I’m not allowed to feel like this…not good, not bad.
The brave face has to be put on.
Everyone needs to know that you are fine.
You are making it.
Nothing bothers you.
It’s not true. That doesn’t matter, though.
This won’t last. It’s a moment to wallow in.
Float with the gray waters. Let your heart hurt just a bit.
I’ll land in the shallows and get to my feet.
Walking back to where I was, I’ll verbally kick myself for allowing the hurt and gray to win again – especially after so long of holding them off!
Then, somehow, I’ll walk a little further up from where I was when those clouds rolled in and took me away.
Bathed in light and then half light.
In small spurts I move forward.
On and on to regions unknown…
Paths untread….
All in spurts.

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What IS the “Catch”

Last night, I chose to drive from Cincinnati to Pond Creek after the Reds game (which they won, Go Reds!) – but more on that adventure in another post. Normally, I sing my guts out, but last night I did more thinking than distracting myself. Yes, folks, it was a thinking weekend, which isn’t so bad, but that’s what happens when I’m left with only me for company.
The day had started out rough due to a dream in which I was told/shown by all involved how I have missed or messed up everything. Ab-so-lute-ly everything. Breakfast and Free Comic Book day helped to reduce that nagging feeling, but it was always there, lurking under the surface.
This thought/fear of my dream being prophetic, came to the forefront as I drove the nearly empty highway along with another thought. What is my “catch” and do men worry about that?

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