Excuse me while I wax philosophical.

I've been pretty unstable the past few days. Mostly it had to do with the usual suspects--my various social failings and the inevitability of loss, but some of it was unexplainable. I was feeling pursued. Hunted by sadness. Eventually I couldn't outrun it anymore and yesterday afternoon had a good, unprovoked cry down by the creek in our neighborhood, effectively ending my 2-and-a-half-month dry spell (If you don't know my crying habits, you should be advised that that's an extremely long time for me). There's something really gratifying about crying by a creek--completely unlike crying in your room. It gives you a sense of closure. But I wasn't done yet.

This morning, for no reason I could figure out, I was panicky, restless, and unable to eat without becoming even more so. I've noticed a pattern when I'm feeling like this. It means I'm teetering on the edge. If something good happens, I'll have the time of my life. If something bad happens, I'll break down in a hysterical crying fit. And if nothing happens, I'll keep worrying and panicking until I can no longer take it, then I'll shut down and become despondent.

Well, I waited a couple of hours. I chatted online. I sort of flightily did my work. I finished the laundry. Nothing good happened. Nothing bad happened. Since the weather was nice and since I couldn't concentrate on any sit-down job, I decided to try to burn off the paranoia with a walk in the park. Normally this doesn't work. I feel OK as long as I'm walking, but as soon as I stop, the black clouds gather again. But I keep trying. I had to do something.

It was a good walk. At first I thought I'd hike around the perimeter trail until I was exhausted (physical exhaustion tending to beat out emotional exhaustion), but I reconsidered after I estimated it to be over 10 miles long. I just checked and it's really only 5.3 miles. I don't know how I measured so badly, but I'm glad I did, because I was then inspired to be daring. I decided to go off the beaten path and follow the creek around its little bend and come back to my car along the main road.

While I was walking, I was reminded of so many things. I was reminded of the times when I was a lonely adolescent exploring our woods by myself, imagining myself a great explorer or exile, someone with a much more interesting life than my own. I was reminded over and over again of Mohican State Park. So many good things happened at Mohican. I was reminded of the days when Tiffany and various others would go with me to the park instead of church some Sundays, to meet with God among his trees.

Today I went to my own Church of the Park--finding a bit of solace in the efforts of maneuvering past thornbushes and mud patches, marveling at the skunk cabbages growing in a swampy part of the hillside, the fallen tree with a root system as flat as a pancake.

And then I had my epiphany! I leapt off of a bank onto what looked like a solid sandbar, and found myself ankle-deep in mud! Woohoo! That was what I needed! The surprise to jolt me out of my state of strange. After that I was free to slog through the mud completely unencumbered by thoughts of keeping my feet dry. I scrambled over banks and through little tiny fords with absolute liberty. And I felt back to normal! Ha! I will not be despondent today! No one can make me!

Honey tits, mud is disgusting.

I love how you write. You can explain things in a clarity that just dazzles me. So many times I've felt the same way but my ability to grasp how I felt didn't even come close to insight you have. I feel like you describe me when you talk about yourself.