Buck up, lil' soldier

It feels like a gauze shroud.
With a weight more like lead.
It isn’t depression, per say, but it is melancholy.
There are days were I just can’t stop it, can’t shake it. When the world view through my brown eyes is of a glass that is half-full (and the water’s brackish).
It bothers me to no end.
Because my life right now should be about opportunity and trying new things and meeting new people and shaking off the rust of 11 years of familiarity. But you get home to a quiet house and the shadows have the ability to coat you like the film of oil.
Funny, I was convinced that I was having a shitty day Monday. Then I talked with a couple people in the city. Just being myself, talking about environmental issues, sustainability. Over the course of the conversation, it was decided that I needed to meet some of their friends. Another guy who was a transplant to the Midwest, near my age.
“He’s well-read, like you, and I think you guys would hit it off.”
Late calls came in, invites to coffee.
A baseball playoff game with friends.
And so I wake up in the darkness before 4 a.m. and I can’t get back to sleep. Worry. Things out of my control, sure, but much of it of my own construct.
I hitched up the girls and walked my neighborhood.
I told myself that everything was OK.
And I believed myself.