it is a beautiful autumn early afternoon. the sky is clear blue, wind knocking leaves outta trees and temps. in the high 50s F. my favorite time of year when the city lay leaved in October blood (Dylan T., I believe) even tho it is late November.

even so, it has been a stressful week at work. for the most part I am by all accounts pretty laid-back dude. at least on the surface, I guess. but when it gets emotionally rough for me, my desires turn to a hankering for serenity. and that is a danger sign for me cuz I know a great desire to learn to meditate means that I've let myself get to the breaking point. I've should've seen the signs of stress long before the desire to attain serenity.

the same also when I begin to hate my name and start thinking of alternatives to it. when I do that I know I've gone off the deep end and perhaps real anxiety starts to surface. hardcore anxiety that affects daily routines and sleep patterns. there is a danger in hitting nose first the black back wall and finding no escape.

daily life becomes then a matter of hour-to-hour struggles to stay within your own skin. cuz there is a great temptation to flee to safety, but there is no escape from the self. the self always goes with you including anxiety and depression. I've always considered the connection between writers and mental illness so much bullshit. but perhaps there is something to it all along. or, that writers know language and are better to articulate human suffering. I don't know.

I do know that when I see the black back wall in the middle distance the best I can do is express gratitude. for living, for being in love, for being in language.