All My Life’s a Circle

Hey, semi-loyal readers. It’s been awhile.

I’ve been spending time being sarcastic and funny on my other site for several months, but I’ve returned to KnowFear for a simple reason.

I’m back in therapy – this time with a psychiatrist instead of a psychologist – hoping to make it up another level on the terrace of healing. Nothing like having lofty goals, right?

All of which reminds me of the lyrics to an old Harry Chapin song, suitable since Harry won’t be having any new songs:

All my life’s a circle;
Sunrise and sundown;
Moon rolls thru the nighttime;
Till the daybreak comes around.

All my life’s a circle;
But I can’t tell you why;
Season’s spinning round again;
The years keep rollin’ by.

It seems like I’ve been here before;
I can’t remember when;
But I have this funny feeling;
That we’ll all be together again.
No straight lines make up my life;
And all my roads have bends;
There’s no clear-cut beginnings;
And so far no dead-ends.

I’d been doing pretty well for a bit. Highly functional, I believe is the term, the moniker both descriptive and low-balling at the same time. But I’d developed some hitches in my giddy-up and thought it was time for someone who knew what they were doing to take a peek under the hood before I use too much torque and snap off a bolt.

The issues? Falling out of regular practice with my tools, because I get lazy when things go well for a bit until I’m reminded that the Soapbox Derby car only has momentum until it reaches the bottom of the hill. Then what?

Home issues have presented themselves as we attempt to balance a super-smart nine year old son with moderate-to-severe ADHD with a father dealing with anxiety problems and a mom with her own ADHD-driven challenges. There are just times when we’re all takers at the same time, when normally there’s a good balance within the triangle. What the heck is one supposed to do about that?

The good news is that spring has sprung. The trees (mostly) have buds sprouting, and we’ll be greening up nicely in the next couple of weeks. Spring is usually my mental rebirth after months of cold and gray, a period I long ago christened The Dark Ages. Seasonal Affective Disorder? Please.

I’m not sure how often I’ll write, or what topics will rise to the top of the pile. I’m leery of becoming a lamenter, worried that anything I might bring to the party might be either over-done or trite. But I’ll let the comments be my guide. I do read them all, you know.

The Anxiety Lamp is lit. Smoke ’em if you’ve got ’em.

Image via Wikimedia Commons