It’s funny. The only time I feel like writing via digital means is when everything is going wrong. When things are right, my hand aches for a paper and pen. This is a new phenomenon, about two months old.
You’ve probably figured by now that things aren’t going well.
I find refuge in books before I seek the same in writing. I’ve read six books in the last week, all on my Kindle. More digital intrusion.
The books were two trilogies, both by Cassandra Clare. The last book I read was Clockwork Princess and it drained me. The novel is beautiful, but I cry through about 50%. Every other page either rips my heart out or makes me laugh. The last few chapters are mostly the former.
The pharmacist switched brands on my meds. The new ones aren’t as effective as the last batch. I feel like I’ve gone back about three months–three months of not having particularly damaging mood swings. I even had about three weeks without anxiety gripping me at inconvenient hours.
Instead, I’m back to crying in the car when a song hits me too hard. I’m not talking songs like, “Allissa Lies,” which should make every red-blooded English speaker bawl. I’m talking any and every song about break-ups or falling in love. Yup. I’m that girl. I hate that girl. She annoys me.
On the bright side, I’ll be listening to NPR and reading Wired magazine with unnatural dedication.
My headache is doing awful things to my stomach. Ideally I’ll be back to hand writing my thoughts soon.