I’m watching a documentary called The Staircase, which tells the story of a mysterious death. I’ve become more and more interested in these things as I move closer to a fall semester where I intend to teach a class about mysteries and find a few key cases to start us off. Memento Mori. For we too shall eventually pass. The dark tone of the blogs lately make me wonder where my head is at on such things and if I am seeking some personal resolution and preparedness on the matter. I’ve been wondering why now; why at this time death takes such precedence over other thoughts. I think I’ve been subconsciously reflecting on the death of my father and when it was I lost him. I was 12. I fear he was 43. I am 43.
It isn’t that simple, of course. Death is also metaphorical. These thoughts reflect the fear of failure and of being overwhelmed and succumbing to the load of work pouring over me. I think that this workload, while workable, comes at a time where my mind is not in the best shape to handle such things. It makes me wish for the days where I had the juice to write for hours. I keep on likening that ability–that point in time–to a switch that was flipped to the off position. It is a useful mental trigger, should I figure out a way to turn it on and not rely on the knowledge that it can be turned on.
The fact is I’ve been remarkably lazy and unsure of myself as of late and those twin concepts are crippling. All of it is in my mind, so I ought to have the power to reconfigure the obstacles matrix-like into a pathway back to success.