For the past 33 years or so, I’ve dealt with anxiety and depression. Unfortunately, I’ve only know what it was for about 18 years. Prior to that, the dark hopelessness of depression was written off as being a moody kid, and the awful, ever-present feeling of anxiety in my gut was dismissively deemed an ulcer. …
Tag: writing
Why I Write: Summer 1990, pt. 2
Sitting in the cab of the TW-10 Ford tractor, I cranked the volume on the radio to hear it over the sound of the machinery running behind me, churning out freshly chopped grass. I was just in time to hear Jack Barry introduce his guest for the next segment. He was an author. But not …
Why I Write: Summer 1990, pt. 1
If you’ve ever had to unload a wagon full of freshly chopped grass into a concrete haylage bunker, you know there’s a trick to it. To get a decent row of wet, green grass fed out along the open front of the bunker, you need to maneuver the tractor and the wagon behind it back …
Sally’s gone deaf
My dog bit me this morning. Well, “bit” is a little overdramatic. Sally nipped me. Being a pekingese, she can only fit so much finger in her tiny mouth. Combine that with getting roused from a sound sleep, it ended up being a clumsy and largely ineffective attempt at self defense. A couple of worn …
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