There’s been a lapse in the daily post thing I tried to start doing.
There’s also been a lapse on the Facebook page for this blog, and on Twitter.
In fact, there’s been a lapse in a few different areas of my life, not just blog-related.
I’m having a rough time sleeping, and then a rough time waking up. It’s also bloody hard to stop my head from running away with me, taking me off onto a journey of terror.
The dance has started.
The music, like a tired carousel, lulls me towards the fog.
And there, through the mist, I see it:
The Black Dog.
It crouches, panting, ready to play. It whines and tries to quicken my steps towards it. It barks, tail wagging.
The music becomes louder and the Dog is ready to dance.
The tiredness and the sadness and the stuttering (which is so tell-tale with me) – they combine forces and nudge me forwards. My steps begin to fall in time to the music and the Dog gives a small leap of joy.
And it is as I let the music swallow me up, and it is as I succumb to the rhythms and whirls, that I realise I do not want to be a part of this dance.
I look at the Dog, and it no longer appears playful. The music takes on a sinister tone. I stand still, catching my breath.
The Dog paws at me.
It would surely be easier to continue the dance.
But today, for this moment, I choose to stop the music that lulls me forward. I cannot remove the Dog – it is a part of me and I have long since accepted this. I cannot remove the Dog, but I can remove the power of the dog.
I can speak up. I can ask for help. I can force myself through the motions of life. I can.
The dog has no power.
I choose to step back from the dance, and stand.