I don’t know what it is. I have a tattoo of a cross on my left arm. Part of the reason I got it was because, like so many other things, keeping track of my necklaces in the myriad of moving boxes was impossible. A tattoo is forever; permanently marked into your skin. I got my tattoo for me, not because of you or to show off. You can believe whatever you want, I, on the other hand, am a confirmed Catholic. I am far from perfect. I know God is in my life, because I am lucky to be alive. I don’t know why, I just am. I remember bits and pieces of being in the hospital, including briefly waking up in the ICU to be told “You are very sick.” The doctors thought I had had a stroke.
For some reason today was different. I was depressed, as seems to be the case now for the past few weekends, but it didn’t feel like depression. It just felt like I needed to be off and let my mind wander. Unfortunately lying in bed also means not eating, missing my medicine, and generally neglecting myself. There comes a point when, you’ve slept so much, you can’t sleep any more. It’s not this refreshing, relaxed state either. At least for me, it feels like I’m drunk and being shaken up and ready to faint at any moment.
Actually, what I want to write here now is completely different from what I would’ve written, because now I have something else to say. You could argue “It’s just coincidence!” and maybe you’d be right. However all this time spent processing these emotions and winding up where I am now puts a total new spin on things.
Well, this post has been in draft long enough. It’s time to publish it and start fresh.