Yesterday, I went to Paris.
Put bluntly, yesterday was a crappy, crappy day. It wasn’t a tragic day, thankfully, but it was a crappy day, and one that means major changes ahead. And last night I was in that dangerous “fret zone,” where everything in my mind was whirling around the troubles, playing If Then Else with my future, and getting uncomfortably close to the death-spiral that would pull me down into depression.
Consciously, I retreated. It’s a mechanism I’ve learned, and it’s kept me from tumbling down into the dark many times. I retreated from the problem, tucked myself into a safe trench, and filled my forebrain with a fond memory while my subconscious wrassled with the problem.
And thus, Paris.
Unraveling Time
Desert Wind
Ploughman's Son
Ploughman King
The Year the Cloud Fell
The Spirit of Thunder
Shadow of the Storm
The Cry of the Wind
Beneath a Wounded Sky
Cryptogenesis: A Memoir
Kurt R.A. Giambastiani 