I have been wallowing in dark places, and leaning towards other things. I have gathered ammunition, and shot it at only those I love the most.
I have had the worst year a person could imagine, with brightness in spots like you would not even believe. I have dithered with insomnia, and depression, and anxiety, and rage, with malaise and manic behavior like they document in the DSM-IV
I have built up playlists, borrowed books, and written more on lined pages in the last month, than I had written all last year. I have had moments of clarity long past midnight, and muddled visions of reality somewhere around noon.
But here I am. Existing, surviving, living, breathing. Wallowing in sunlight, dithering in music, loving all that I have with a manic grace you might not know what to do with.