In a good way. Most decidedly so.
I wonder whether it might surprise you to hear me say that, given how angst-y full of hoo-ha my postings here have been now and then, and how "what the fuck is she talking about?," and how stuff like that there.
What can I say. It's been a contemplative time.
Sometimes it's hard for me to remember the goodness of a contemplative time. When it goes on along with coming back to life, a little, anyway. Being called back to the things of this world, as the poet pegs it.
Had a ghost in the elevator with me today. First ride I took thereon after someone else expressed not believing in those ghosts. I knew pretty quick which one it was. And that she was happy. I called her Happy D.J. Realized she's a little taller than I am. I don't know that from real life, since I never knew her, but I know it now.
Anyway. As I read back over the openings of the months (I'm about halfway through), it's not just (stuff like) remembering Molly Ivins, and remembering how moved I was remembering her. It's also ---well, I've felt alive a lot this year. Sounds perhaps pretty dumb/obvious to some of you, and perhaps over-the-top trite reductive or otherwise rhetorically suspect to others (like me), but, thing is, it's true. Not always alive as in "ain't it good to be alive." I mean, make no mistake. Coming back to life is coming back to all of life.
Was also thinking I was writing (what to me seem) better posts here earlier this year. That is to say, I like reading some of those more than I like most of what I've typed here lately.
That's a matter of having spirit in you, too, I think. It all depends on the spirits of the time, of the moment(s). She said, even more tritely than whatever that was that she was saying tritely above. ;)