[“In This Diary” – The Ataris]
Words can be tricky. Sometimes I feel them expertly packed inside of me. Perfectly stacked and sorted, accessible at any time and for any purpose. And then there are times when I feel as though I can grasp words as well as I can grasp a wisp of smoke or a sunbeam. Beautiful, but fleeting verbiage. These past few months, though, have had a different quality. They have seen a series of difficult mental health days. With those, my carefully stacked edifices of words collapse and leave behind them a ruin which I am ever more tired of rebuilding. I’ve felt lost in toppled towers of unfinished thoughts and weathered facades of fuzzy notions.
At best, my writing style, here at least, can be described as meandering so a sense of lost-ness does not necessarily lend itself to a coherent dialogue by any means…