Lost And Found

Sometime during the last couple of weeks I lost my melancholy. It's been my constant companion for the at least the last 4 months or so, but now it's somehow disappeared.

The process of getting well can be a long one, and prompt a good deal of self-reflection. You have time on your hands when you're incapacitated and can't really do much but think, so there's plenty of time for self-reflection. Couple this with profound changes in your outlook and understanding of the world, and you've got ripe ground for regrets as you reevaluate past behaviour. A time of mourning is appropriate when you appreciate the weight of some decisions, intentional or no, and face some consequences, but it can also become a hair-shirt of sorts by which you castigate yourself thinking, 'Ah, this is reality'.

Apparently reality doesn't have to suck. It's possible to be honest with yourself and admit mistakes without the whips and chains and 100 lb boulder on your back. There can be a balance between sober and free.

Addendum: Bloom County was one of the secret pleasures of my youth. Every day I'd flip directly to the editorial page of the Edmonton Journal to catch the latest strip. Thanks to Berke Breathed I know more about American politics of the 1980's than I do Canadian history...