When I held your near lifeless body in my arms, I wanted you to feel my love before leaving this world. I love you so so so much. 

Why this, now, in a time of failing spirit?

I am feeling lost and alone and purposeless. What do I do anything for? What do I live for? I am calling out to God, to make me strong, to keep me from falling off, but sometimes even my prayers seem empty. I have no view of tomorrow, leaving me a deep sense of forboding. I can’t seem to find it in my heart to care what is next in my life. The things I love are fading away and with them meaning too. 


I moved to a country for its climate. Everything and everyone else I love is at least one ocean away. Alone, encumbered (or unencumbered, depends which way you look at it) by loneliness, I begin to feel regret for that decision made forever ago. However, seeing that climate is something I have to live with every single day, it remains a defensible choice.

I have a playlist called “not listening to AM”. Goodbye to your posturing, vapid curiosity.

I have decided I will try online dating. 

When I imagine myself moving up in the ranks in my place of work I feel a touch of despair. Constant antagonism pervades the space between colleagues. Beyond that, the infinite struggle just to get things done leaves no room for improvement: beauty and harmony. 

I think of running away and making a fresh start, seeking out an environment where I can thrive. I wonder if I should take some responsibility in changing the way things are, but then I imagine it would be a bit of a red queen affair, perpetually running in place. 

I see the sense of purpose in both paths, but as of yet, I am unmoved.

I can’t get myself to work. It is an enormous problem that must be overcome. The mere thought of initiating a required task is debilitating. Where does it come from?

Met up for coffee with another friend.

I am often in awe of how she uses language. I wonder if I ever spoke aloud like that, using phrases like “lends credence to” or “cast in the shadow of the memory of”. The speed of her thought amazes me and the linguistic acrobatics she employs inspires me.

I think of the ideas we share and how there just aren’t people around to talk about ideas with anymore.

This all leads me to think that I should write more, engage in that arduous language-shaping-thought-shaping-language endeavor to flex those old muscles.