Clouds gather
I’ve been doing okay, but I feel it coming. It is a subtle undercurrent of…not-rightness, an unexplained pall over what is an otherwise fine day. It is grief, tip-toeing up on me. Which I suppose is an improvement; it used to sucker-punch me, hard, and leave me curled up in a ball on the ground, whimpering. But I recognize its approach now. I’ll feel good for awhile, and then I’ll have a period of melancholy. The former tends to last longer, and the latter passes more quickly, with each new cycle. I know this, so I don’t fear it. I don’t look forward to it, but I don’t fear it. But it’s coming. Am I prepared?
Am I not always prepared these days?