A Moment of Angst

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I’ve been thinking. No comments about my working without tools again please.

The past few weeks have found me awash in various levels of depression, obsession, worry (about things financial, physical, blah blah blah) and stress.

There’s a roof over my head. Food in the fridge. A car that runs (knocks on her head). My daughter is healthy and doing well.

Still this miasma of unhappiness, uncertainty, fear and the longing to simply give up permeates the waking hours and the dream time.

Now, don’t get me wrong. The days and nights have been punctuated with laughter, self-deprecating humor, and the usual day to day crap that can make one smile. It’s just that… they’re so far and few between. Couldn’t even get into ‘the zone’ when I went skiing today. A bad sign.

I think I know what’s wrong. I may have an axiom here.

All people require two special items to survive:

1. Physical touch.

2. Encouragement  and kind words

Seems to me that these two facets of life are as indispensable as food, shelter and health.

I’ve been missing both. For a long time. So holistically I’m not healthy. Ya, no shock there but bear with me.

Humans are programmed to feel comfort from touch, from words of solace or compliment. Those wacky fun-loving serial killers you read about were all missing these two critical objects in their lives.

So, I feel better identifying what may be a major cause of this current desolation. There’s no cure on the horizon which gives me little hope, but there’s something positive about all of this self-discovery:

I’m too old to start a new career as a serial killer.