This always has been (and forever will be) Harold's blog. As you can probably tell, Harold decamped for quite a bit My picky muse doesn't deal well with stress and angst and the last year has rather redefined those. Plus I'm quite afraid my Celexa puts a damper on the Harold input as well.
A psychologist would probably say that's a good thing. I most definitely beg to disagree. Life without Harold is a rather bleak existence.
In the last year - yes it's been nearly a year (February 26th in fact it will be a year) it's been a constant struggle to find out exactly who I am without the constant worry about another person. Yes Jon's still around but he's pretty self-sufficient. I'm talking about the gaping void left when you find you were the unwilling co-dependent for someone with a mental illness and then that burden is suddenly gone. It's pretty scary to realize that you can work 24 hours a day or sleep 12 or go somewhere without constantly worrying what will happen -- or worse -- what crisis you will come home to. I have a better understanding of what long term prisoners must feel upon release and realizing there is a life out there but you just don't know what to do with it. Yeah - effectively been there in a small way.
Life with Celexa? eh not great but it definitely took the edge off. Due to some rather unfortunate side effects I tend to have on any mood altering medication, the physicians are a bit afraid to increase the dosage even though at time's I've begged. They're rightly concerned. It's a balancing act, and anyone who knows me well knows balance just isn't my strong suit.
Bit by bit though, I hear or see or think something a bit outside the box and think "Hi Harold". He's developed into a bit of a cynic of late but that can be easily forgiven. It's easy to forget how fragile a muse can be and if this last year (3 years in fact) have been rough on me, they must've been truly hideous for him.
Piece by piece I'm rediscovering. Piece by piece, Harold is speaking again - yes still in the shower, or most recently, in the quiet dawn when I go outside for my cigarette, in the times when I'm IPODing it and find a song I don't remember downloading -- well there he is. He's there in the rather obscure - but somehow enamouring - lyrics of Deacon Blues; he's there in Moonlight Feels Right (and he must be psychic because he always loved that song --- even before I knew where Easton Maryland was); and even sometimes he itches for the ivories. Not often - but sometimes.
Piece by piece, step by step, slow whispered message by slow whispered message.
Harold - I've missed you so.
******
This was from my birthday in Baltimore last year. It's taken out of the window @ Koopers - a rather nice pub in Fells Point. Of course Harold couldn't pass up the chance to investigate a new pub :)
