Darkness and mourning have the power to distort time, to stretch seconds and minutes into days and months. It can happen the other way, too. In the presence of responsibilities in particular, time can be compressed, leaving the impression that payments and papers have crept up on us. And still sometimes, they leave the clock alone entirely. We can rarely tell what will happen when the light is blotted out or joy dies of cancer yet again.
I really mostly only read two genres: Theology and Fantasy. I also love a good dystopia or something in a nice post-apocalyptic setting, but so many of those stories are subpar lately. The Hunger Games and The Maze Runner pale in comparison to some good old 1984 or Brave New World or really, any Ayn Rand. Her philosophy is terrible and will always end in devastating destruction (insert subtle, yet poignant political statement here), but at least she was willing to follow through to that end in most of her writing. And she knew how to create good characters.
Occasionally, I find myself in a funk. I can’t quite say that I’m depressed, because I’m not sure that’s what it really is. My head could be broken, or there could just be too much going on to maintain that semi-indifference that helps me laugh at most things. Door number three could be that I haven’t cared for myself physically in the ways that a human who desires to be healthy ought to, and the chemicals in the brain suffer, wreaking havoc with my worldview and worse, my mood. Who the hell knows? One of the troubles with a holistic view of the human is that it adds so many variables to each of life’s equations and struggles. That means more avenues to pursue when looking for wholeness in the face of brokenness.