Lately, I've been unable to finish any of the drafts that I've started here for this little ol' blog. I'm tried writing about my garden, tried to write about the ten-miler, tried to write about the death of Tim Davis. I sit down and start, but I can't finish.
The chief reason why I don't finish anything is that my leisure time has more or less disappeared, again. For reasons I can't state publicly, it's important for me to work as much as possible and this more or less means taking on additional work at Court Square Tavern. Last night, I worked at Tastings for the second time, this time as a waiter.
Every day of my life these days feels like a trip to the dentist, filled with a mixture of dread, terror and numb. Yet, there are still glimpses of pure joy. I don't feel sad, though I certainly don't feel this life has shaped up the way I thought it might and there are tremendous wells of sadness all around me. I have to constantly be on battle to not fall in.
There's nothing really in this post. This one is an exercise, a place-holder, a marker in time.
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