Day LXXXIV: Diary

It can be an uncomfortable thing, blogging. You spend a lot of time thinking and rethinking about what you're willing to share with the world, what you're not. There's a lot of choice that goes into disclosing a particular thought to the rest of the webverse. Sometimes I find myself backing up, tapping the delete button just one more time, before hovering the mouse above "publish" and clicking my life on to the Internet. 

But, mostly, I find it rewarding. I enjoy sharing my life with the world. I find a somewhat rewarding level of vulnerability, of courage through offering these moments to any and all of the readers that wander over.

In many ways, this blog serves as a daily diary. A way to reflect and ponder. A means to end the day, to wrap up a week or a day or a thought.

And I find it empowering. There is something frenetic and vibrant about writing every day of your life, however brief. Who knows, in twenty years, I may find these ancient blogs and think, wow, look where I was. Look what I did. Look who I used to be!

I hope that I am proud. I hope that I have changed for the better, for good. 

But, truthfully, I am pretty happy right now. Of course, there are pieces missing. Days pass without reset buttons, no matter how badly I wish to press one. I'll fake a smile here, or try harder to laugh there, but, mostly, I find myself in a pretty good head space.

Today was not a day I would reset.

I started a new show. (By "started", I mean I watched 9 episodes of The Vampire Diaries with Kyle and Jessica.) And, as much as I should feel embarrassed, it was a damn gloomy day. 

And that show? Addicting. 

Like, meth levels of addicting. 

The week is starting. Who knows what it will bring? 

The only certainty? I'll be ten days away from 100 by the end of it. And that, dear reader, is a strange feeling.

Oh, look, a haircut!

Day LIII: Gloom

...a gloomy peace this morning with it brings.

-William Shakespeare

The first time I played Pokemon, I was sitting a old and comfortable reclining chair in the upstairs living room of Aaron Carlson's house. Well, his parents' house, I guess. I cannot remember for the life of me if it was his copy or if it was his brother Mat's.  But I do remember an Arbok--named Edward Mon--a Wartortle, a Dugtrio, two others, and a Gloom.

©Kawiko, DeviantArt

At six years old, I had no idea that Gloom was a separate noun first, and a pokemon second. I just thought it was some sad, depressed plant that poisoned it's opponents. Or drained them of life while feeding their own dark wishes. Or paralyzed them. Or sent them into an undesired sleep. Or spit toxic acid in their face.

Only now, nearly twenty years later, do I realize that Nintendo's frightening creation is an apt representation of what it feels like to be saturated in gloom, in partial darkness, in despondency.

The snow is heavy beyond the window. 

And I worry that as soon as I take a step beyond the building, my whole body will cave in and collapse.

The dreariness of the day is frightening and gray, tastes like musk and sand. I'm not feeling optimistic about the spring. Breathe in, breathe out: it has to end eventually.

The snow and rain and cold: perfect cuddle weather.

And that's the hardest part.