Middle of the Night

Thought I might wake up - I just had that feeling.  I was in the middle of a weird dream about comedians and clowns, and pain in my arthritic shoulder woke me - sleeping at an odd angle, I expect.  I've had quite a few comments about the piece I wrote about religion - mostly saying that although they were spiritual people, they didn't like organised religion.  I suppose I agree with that - the church has a lot to answer for.  But without organised religion, the church might die.  It's a dilemma.  I'm too lazy to go on Sundays, and I always ask myself why I would go anyway - sense of camaraderie?  Good sermons?  I envy people their faith, but I can't find mine.

I've read a bit of what it was like when I was depressed and it makes scary reading - I wonder how I stay alive sometimes.  That absence of everything; that missing personality and the sheer desperation.  I didn't read much because I'm still a bit to close to it for comfort - I can still see the mineshaft, even though I'm not in it.  The Black Dog is a way down the road, but he's still in sight.

I'm having coffee and fags, although that probably goes without saying to regular readers.

Onwards and upwards.