Falling glass

As a sailor of these emotional waters, I recognize the weather patterns.

It starts with a sensation that is similar to the day before you come down with a flu. Confusion about why everything seems confusing. Paying attention to traffic. Making decisions. There is a general pressure of distraction.

As I have gotten to know myself over my lifetime, I check my emotional barometer and can tell it is dropping rapidly. I have gotten used to checking the horizon. And there, indeed, are the clouds.

I understand the sources of these feelings. High pressure of dealing with my father's chemotherapy. Low pressure of heart ache. Ridges in between of shifting winds in my life. It is difficult to set a direction and hold it.

I can read these feelings as clearly as if they were outlined on a map. And yet, understanding doesn't change the weather.

I know what I have to do. I have to prepare ship. So, I shorten conversation. I close the hatches to myself. Those who know me, can make out my storm lights. Others become confused. I admit only to feeling a bit unwell; maybe it was something I ate. Maybe I am coming down with something. Maybe I just need a good night's sleep.

I am lucky in that I don't suffer the depression that requires drugs to dispel the clouds. Having the blues is what I prefer to call it. And I have lived long enough with myself to acknowledge these times and not try to fight them too much. Trying to plow through them with full sails is far more dangerous. One makes poor decisions and irrational comments when fatigued by foul weather.

Better to go below and sleep it out.