I am still in the middle of two more posts, but they won’t happen until the weekend at the earliest. They’re works in progress, and the gist is mostly written, but I don’t have the energy to edit after the last post. Not to mention, I’ve got three people clamoring for my computer.

 I’ve also been wanting to write more about Michael Brown and Ferguson, MO; more than my two line blurbs here or there, but I can’t wrap my head around it so I keep reblogging those who can say things coherently. It just makes me so sad, and I can’t focus on writing anything. I grew up in the 70s, in NYC during bussing, and I can’t imagine that we’ve gone backwards rather than forwards. It’s appalling and frightening, even for me.

The last few weeks – probably about four – have been a patchy, unpredictable roller coaster of being down and trying to force myself out of sinking into a depression. It might sound silly, but Robin Williams’ death really threw me for a loop. Besides it happening at all, for me it came in the middle of a downward swing, and made coming back up a little harder. At least I’ve been aware of it happening and can try to remedy it as best I can.

I’ve been drawing, which is weirdly calming considering I have no talent, but surprisingly, I’ve been doing pretty well. I’ll publish some pictures and I’ll write more about this when I post my wrap up for my recent retreat.

(Some of this sounds as though I’ve posted it already in other forms, so I’m sorry if I have and forgot – brain fog and all.)

I’ve been praying the rosary and reading my Grace book. These are unexpectedly soothing. They comfort me with a silent, invisible presence, there only to reassure my soul that things will be alright. And even stranger: I believe it.

I will be catching up with phone calls soon. As in, if you’ve called me and I haven’t called you back, I will. And if I’ve called you and haven’t gotten you, I will try again. Plus those three emails because I do not want to drop the ball on important things.

I can feel the darkness, but the light is around the edges and I’m hyperaware; not letting it swallow me up this time.

I returned to church yesterday and then again today. Skipping it Sunday made it easier to sleep in on Monday and choose to not go.

But there is something remarkable about receiving communion that fills me with joy and sacred presence, and then the people holding my hand for the Our Father. I like shaking hands right after that, feeling the warmth of others. Today my priest took my hand on the way out, and instead of letting me go, held it for a moment and squeezed it. It’s weird, but it’s almost as though he knows when I’m in that place and need a little extra kindheartedness; it is such a genuine gesture of caring, seemingly right when I need it.

Tomorrow is my 20th wedding anniversary.

This is the first time we’re leaving the kids home and going out on our own to celebrate. Dinner and a movie, just like our first date, and then home so my newly independent son can go out with his friends. My daughter is planning some elaborate something or other that requires secrecy, streamers, and a drum set stool. I don’t even want to ask.

It is nice, though.