Don't call it a comeback!

The smoke is beginning to clear and the sun is peeking out over the horizon. The darkness that has characterized the last 7 or 8 weeks of my life appears to be succumbing to the light at long last. I have actually come up with a metaphor or two. I haven't been remotely near one of those in weeks, but they're still around. They're just a little more elusive than ever. There's something about being in constant pain and under the influence of narcotics that makes it a little more difficult to get a handle on things that usually come so easily.

In the past few weeks, I've felt old and washed up and unable to get into the zone. I've had no idea where the zone is, never mind how to actually get into it. I'm reminded of that scene from Rocky where Sylvester Stallone is dressed in the signature grey sweatsuit with the black Chuck Taylor's and the beanie. Wait a minute. We can't forget the standard issue gym shorts pulled over the top of the aforementioned sweats. His outfit is not what intrigues me though, but rather his struggles to catch the chicken that Mick has ordered him to chase in an exercise to work on his agility and quickness. My mind has felt anything but agile or quick during this sleep deprivated, pain plentiful, pharmaceutically alterered state that I've been in and out of since September 5. On the rare occasion that I've managed to escape the 3 previous states of being, lack of desire has felled me more often than not. Fast forward in your Rocky DVD box set to Rocky 3 when a sufficiently dolled up and polished Sly doesn't really want to train and is downright scared to do anything other than drive his Ferrari around. The spoils from his good life have been a little too good to him and he's afraid of going back to breaking thumbs in South Philly. Don't worry, I have no terribly sordid past to return to, but I can sympathize with the sentiment that made him slow down and stop running down that Santa Monica beach against the always ridiculously chizled Apollo Creed. Having no desire to even attempt the thing that have given you such a wonderful creative outlet for such a prolonged period of time does begin to feed the fire of apathy. Now there's some irony. Apathy would probably be more aptly described by the grey ashes that follow the eruption of a volcano rather than the spectacular vibrancy of erupting lava. I'm on my way back. I just took an unexpected detour and it's taking me a little bit more time to return to the highway.