Food for Thoughts

In stormy seas, truth has a tendency to sound, to rest on the ocean floor singing softly to itself, passing the days, weeks before once more breaching the surface with a splash of recognition, a quick breath of air, then once more sinking below the waves.  Getting reacquainted with truth should feel like reinforcement, but more often it feels like discovery - briefly.  Then it feels like obviousness, the sunglasses you were looking for were on your head the whole time.

I am not a diarist.

So much has been going on, so many doctor visits, trips to the pharmacy, so many fronts mounted against the onslaught of side effects.  So many swift and hideous mood changes.  So much to describe, analyze and share.  So much.

But, I am not a diarist.

I am more of a horticulturist.  An idea germinates in the darkness of my moist mental soil.  Delicate cotyledons of observation break the confines of their shell, are protected from the elements, nurtured watered with words, fed with experiences and emotions in the hopes that new leaves will grow into complete sentences, that the roots will take hold in meaningfulness.  And once they are strong enough, I transplant them into the full sunlight of the internet.

Sometimes the sprouts whither and die.  Sometimes they become stunted, not dying but not thriving either.  Sometimes they are trampled.

And sometimes, there are just too many to manage.