a man on the verge

Jeffrey Gold

I've been thinking of putting this painting up with one of my photographs for a few days.  Then I change my mind.  I just noticed the similarity one day, though perhaps there is really no similarity at all.

My creative brain does not want to work.  I don't know if it is "any more" or if it is just "now."  Another, more animal part of my brain has taken over, or maybe something worse.  And brains are connected to every cell in the body, directly, not indirectly.  Every cell has memory and more.  So whatever it is that is controlling my thoughtless processes now is controlling my body, too.  I'm attacking the problem from both ends, from the mind down and from the cell up.  But mostly it seems what both want is rest.  I slept more this weekend than I usually do in a week.  But for a few very brief moments, I did not leave the house.  This is a sure sign of depression, I know, but it is too easy a term, too broad and encompassing.  To know whether the root cause is mental or somatic is the thing, though it is difficult to separate the two.  The third component is enviro/social.  I shouldn't say "the third" for that sounds as if it is the last.  I will figure out more.  Fixing all of it just now seems beyond my ken.  The smallest things bring me big anxiety.  Just daily life things like mailing my tax return and getting my car serviced and scheduling my "beauty" appointment and paying bills. . . .   How do I get that all done?

There are times when solitude has great advantages.  There are times when it doesn't.  Now is when being in a monastery would be just the thing.  Collectivized solitude.

All of this is. . . just an excuse. . .  an apology for my lack of. . . something. . . .  Perhaps I need to let someone else take over the blog for a while.  I can't put up the bright shiny 21st century I'm successful social network smile right now.  I just want to sleep.