“From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.”

          Edgar Allan Poe, “ALONE”


Lately I’ve felt listless, withdrawn, and distant – very alone-in-the-crowd.  This isn’t really a new thing.  I’ve always been a bit aloof, emotionally self-reliant (sometimes to a fault).  Not that I’m a cold person . . . maybe more like a particularly affectionate cat.  So no, nothing new, just lately it’s felt a little . . . hollowing.  Maybe it’s because I’ve been busy with the books and writing thing and away from friends and only around long enough for a few drink or a fun night out.  I don’t remember the last, in depth, conversation I’ve had – one that takes long enough to cut past pleasantries and dig into some meaty pathos or content.  I’m feeling starved.


But I’ll halt here, while this remains out loud introspection, before it gets into realms of whining or complaining.  The sardonic humorist in me won’t allow that.  I don’t have too many complaints right now and, as I mentioned, recently, in my thesis Forward:  “Brooding, unchecked, becomes spiritual masturbation.”


Back to work.