In some ways I think my stories, such as they are, may be missing the mark. They seem not to be stories but scenes. As much as I try, it seems I am unable to contain a story into three hundred words.
Guess now, I understand why novelists appreciate 80,000-90,000 words for a story. For the time being though, will continue doing these as an exercise. Can always return later to expound these scenes out into fuller stories. At least these scenes can provide a seed for future stories.
The writing aside, this evening I go to see a therapist. From what I am led to understand, I will likely need continual therapy. I have issues with chronic depression, and some other mental health issues. None really mark me as being harmful to others or myself. But I do have times when everything seems shitty to me.
It gets difficult to simply “carry on” when I find myself in such a time. Currently, I am in a really tough blah mood. Suppose, I need to stop thinking all together as it seems to lead me to feeling sick. But I live, so I think.
Been thinking about peak oil, financial collapse and all that lovely jazz. I try guiding thoughts elsewhere but it is rough going. Am still keeping myself in a relatively happy bubble. I try taking charge of me, my responses, my actions and letting what be, be. I try to remember if it is beyond my control, I ought not worry over it. But that is still fairly raw to do.
I look to our dogs for solace at times. They are so lovely. They live in the now. Stepped on a puppy’s foot by accident. Little thing looks up at me a few seconds later, happiness and joy to see me in its face. I was forgiven before I even stepped on its foot. Such a great lesson but one that is hard to aspire to.
Well, I have rambled probably too much.