This may sound like gibberish to you, but I think I'm in a tragedy.

So, things have been going all pear-shaped here where the wild and precious things are.

Work is hard and exhausting. Friends are sad and hurting. Lies are being thrown at me left and right, and I'm believing most of them. Life is not how I want it to be, but I can't bring myself to change it. I'm viewing things as black and white, but mostly black. I even died my hair black for an evening. (It was a YL thing...relax- I haven't gone goth).

My glass is dangerously close to being half empty.

It's all just...messy.

I thought about taking a break from blogging. From Facebook. From email and everything else. I was all ready to renounce all of it and see if that helps any. But I know that's not it.

I know what's pushing me in this direction, I've taken the necessary steps to fix it, and I'll probably write about it as a means to process it shortly, but one other thing I do know: I'm not reading, I'm barely writing, and most importantly...I'm not creating.

I don't know how I did life before I recognized myself as an artist and a writer. (Even now, I don't necessarily publicly admit I'm an artist or a writer, but deep down I'm beginning to come to terms with who that part of me is...) I don't know how I processed the world and life. Or did I even process the world and life? Was I even alive? Whoa...now I'm getting existential...

Yesterday afternoon, in a move that can only be described as the grace of God, I started to feel a little bit better. The windows were rolled down and Toto's "Africa" was playing, and I was singing and in the moment and felt as if maybe, just maybe, the "reset" button had been pushed and maybe I could figure it out. It didn't last all night, as I'd hoped, but it was a start.

LiFE group was cancelled, and that helped me have some time to fight the busyness and get some things in order at home, which allows me to breathe, ever so slightly.

I picked up my guitar after 10 months, tuned it, and played around a little. And my fingers feel it...

Now I'm going to go hang out in Psalm 37, where I know things are comforting and safe, and where I can rest. Where I know things aren't pear-shaped.


**Updated to add: Looks like I'm not the only one going through this.