I am frustrated with the world. I blew up in class today. The genetics of my father flowed out of me: one crazy red-faced Irishman. But that was the end result of an overall deep downturn in my psyche over the last couple of days. I am not sure what caused this fall. I noticed years ago that I tend to fluctuate between feeling ok, and being depressed and gloomy. I have assumed that I was not manic-depressive because I did not have the ecstatic emotional highs. Sadly. I suppose this current emotional collapse is just a culmination of events comprised of Lisa’s loss of a job,the layoffs occurring on a daily basis in the building where I work, the state of education in Texas where 100,000 teachers will be fired this year, and the general turn to a fascist state exhibited by the Republican party’s attempt at gutting everything created for the good of people since the New Deal. But that would be too simplistic. I really am not that paranoid.
A friend, one of the more intellectually complex persons I’ve worked with in years, always wants to know how people feel about things; so instead of trying to analyze cause, I will describe effect. I have a tight constricted ball located just below where the ribcage comes together. It feels like the moment before one vomits from too much liquor without the dizziness or nausea. I want to cry over anything and everything: newscasts, sappy television, poems I have read for years, words. An overwhelming sadness sweeps through me, similar to how I felt, in waves, the year my mother was dying before I was prescribed antidepressants, and then felt nothing.
A few months ago, an old friend from Bread Loaf came through town. When she came to dinner she asked how I was doing. My quick, and honest answer was that I was happier than I had been in years, which is still true. I feel (think) that I am writing some of the best poetry of my life over the last few months (even though I feel no one reads it). I enjoy the conversation with the friends I have made over the years on both an emotional and intellectual level. I work with a collection of big-hearted, smart, funny, articulate people whom I love deeply. My three children are wonderfully fascinating young adults who I delight in listening to as they negotiate the world they are creating. I am still in love with the woman I fell in love with thirty-one years ago. And all of this makes me want to cry.
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