For Want of a Pen and Some Paper

bilbo writing

Adventures?  I have had many, and shalt still have more.  Though my body dost ache an protest mine exploits.  Young though once I was, no longer can I make that claim as my physical calamities frequently remind me.  Once there was a time when nothing could stop my exploits stop, nothing could slow my need for information, nor could any man, beast or soul divert my mind from it’s goal of discovery.

Yet of late, I am feeling old.  My mind, though still sharp for the most part, is weary far too quickly for my patience.  My body, which once squoze through the tiniest of crevices not cannot stand for long without the aid of a cane or a chair.  Alas, the mind is willing while the body dost seekest its rest.  My body requires more rest than ever before because, before I required and expected much more from it.  My mind, whilst still a sponge for information, is beginning to weary at the tediousity of every day mundanity.

Thoughts….fleeting words and images…..pass through my synapses like ninjas, barely seen.  And yet my fingers ache to put pen to paper to record the things my mind has absorbed.  Oh, for the time, pen, paper, ink and proper setting to enscribe mine thoughts upon the page for posterity.

Of late, my time serving the local constabulary in a pastoral capacity has led me to many scene that words cannot truly express the horrific scene beheld by mine eyes or the sorrow contained by my soul for the unfortunate families left behind to deal with the aftermath.  Much less the officers who must process the scene as if it had no effect upon them and their families.  Ah, sweet solace seek I for these souls in pain.  Is there a salve or a balm which can thus alleviate the horror that humanity inflicts on itself?

Were it within mine own realm of abilities, the effects of depression, or becoming jaded by that which they eye has seen, would be alleviated before permanent damage is done.  Yet we wonder why it is we cannot restful sleep obtain without medication.  We drive ourselves ever onward, ever keeping the stiff upper lip, never let anyone know you hurt.  And the result?  Over indulgence in medication, alcohol, an various other numbing agents.  I included in this group.

I have found myself, on more than one occasion, seeking the solace of the eternal sleep which is but a few medications away.  Yet, for some reason, I remain. And life goes on unaltered by my weaknesses, failures, desires, or hopes.

What point, then, servest life other than merely a continuum of misery?

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