Good Grief 177

Do you remember that feeling when you were little when you started doing somersaults down a hill and you gained momentum and couldn't stop ... do you remember that feeling?
It's like that at the moment, I'm struggling to keep up with myself.
I'm writing tomorrow (that is, the 19th, not the 18th) and I'm not in the same spot and yet I know a lot has happened. If you were just watching this body as an observer you'd just see the usual routines going on. But on some other level I feel as though I'm orbiting galaxies, whizzing through like a fast comet, whizzing past and seeing this body moving at earth speed and yet in a blur as I whizz past, I look down at my body and hurtling off say, 'haven't you had breakfast yet ...haven't you put one foot in front of the other yet ... I've been round the universe a million times and across parallel time zones ... what are you doing, how can you move so slowly?'

In the morning I teetered on the abyss ... looking at that bloody dark void again. Then as the day went on, walking and catching up and talking, the layers upon layers that continue to emerge, the many, many distillations that come with death. I just can't articulate any of it well enough. 

In spite of how it probably comes across it was a good day, just complex but a noticing of the last couple of weeks having had moments and hints of the first sense of 'normality' for four years ... four years, unrelenting, and without time off for good behaviour.

Once again though, slippage in the evening and I find myself smiling sardonically at my absurdity. But at least I notice it and I know I must trust.
'... The rainbow comes and goes, and lovely is the rose ...'.