Flicking the switch.

I’m tempted. To withdraw. From the world as I know it. But don’t. Because that’s impractical. If not impossible. Withdrawal. Remains an unfulfilled dream. Because I prefer staying alive and functional . A survivor. In what I occasionally perceive as a hostile world. I know. I know. That some day I’ll die. And be no more. That is the ultimate escape. Sounds like a dreadful alternative, doesn’t it? Really. When it comes down to the bottom-line. There’s far more to love and cherish. In both my real and fantasy worlds. Than to dislike and despise. My impulse is to make the best of it all. But some days, I lose faith. I anguish. I deplore the state of affairs. As a writer, I have that right. To express my glumness. Cohorts tell me. That perhaps I am falling into melancholia. An old-fashioned and romantic term for depression. But I scoff. I am, fortunately, still fully able. To pick myself up. By the bootstraps. I am wily. And innovative.  Able to sit down. And write myself. Out of the doldrums.  Makes me an able writer. And an able upbeat thinker, too. I merely flick the switch. And here I am. Falling in love. Again and again. With this wonderful thing called life. --Jim Broede