A Journal of Sorts

Friday, 5 March 1999

Secondhand emotion

I try so hard to live in the present. Is it that my past is overflowing with such sorrow and heartache? Even when I'm writing about a particular 'good' moment, the thoughts and prose progress on to the next event - the betrayal of a friend or spouse, the death of a child -- the bad times. Life is so naturally mixed; the good times and the bad times flow together, a never ending tide of emotions so rich, I tend to run from them.

Probably thirty years ago, I stopped reading the newspaper or watching the news on television. I stopped watching movies because I didn't want to experience those heart wrenching moments. I thought I felt too much; was too empathic for my own good. I thought I had enough tragedy of my own and didn't want to feel the torment of others. Even today, I notice myself shying away from the journals that are too deep, too full of feelings, anguish or conflict.

Also, there is such a rift between my ideals and my reality. Far too often, I'll be writing along and have to just stop in amazement. These thoughts I have, these things I've done -- I would NEVER be that sort of person. But I was and I am. Oh well.

I did my daily check on the yard. Every day, I examine the yard and gardens. (I suppose I can call them gardens, using the term loosely). I check to see if anything has new growth on it, if the bulbs are breaking ground, if the flower buds are forming, if the flowers need to be cut. No sign of peas or carrots yet. The tulips have buds on them, the hyacinth is starting to flower and the trees look like they might be about ready to burst into green, but nothing yet.

I'm going to have to do something with the rose bushes. My budget won't permit creating a raised bed for them. I'm thinking that it probably isn't such a good idea to just leave them in a pail of bleach water. They are starting to bud out in the kitchen.