Notes From A Broken Heart

A seminal question roused me from several days of writing inertia.  Typically,  only a  day separates one piece from the next.  At other times, laziness, plain laziness, may paralyze me for two days at the most.  But there it was; almost a week had elapsed and nothing...nothing. Like a lightning bolt, the thought flashed off and on.  When was the last time I laughed? Really laughed.   Not a polite sound that mimics mirth. A chuckle? Giggle? Guffaw? None of them, certainly no laughing until my sides hurt.  Hmm. Has it been longer than a year? Two years? Yes and yes.  Of course, I knew the "why" of the laughter famine.    I'd grown accustomed to wearing the somber face of grief.  Not consciously, of course.  Evidently,  the grimace that contorted my face following Courtney's death had settled into grimness  Somber.   Glum.  Humorless.  Yet, I didn't carry vivacious expressions on my face while growing up.  In fact, people would often tell me that I appeared

"Not my brother, nor my sister, but it's me, O Lord, Standin' in the need of prayer; Not my brother, nor my sister, but it's me, O Lord, Standin' in the need of prayer. It's me, It's me,  it's me, O Lord, Standin' in the need of prayer; It's me, It's me, it's me, O Lord Standin' in the need of prayer.  Escaping from a made-up world took a long time! I avoided both the mundane and esoteric things that made up my life.   In fact, I became an expert at avoiding life. "Manana, Manana" became my mantra.  I just wasn't capable of facing the hard truths, so I escaped into the world peopled with contrived characters.  Why has it taken this long?  Geez! A raft of reasons floats by, buoyed by time, situation, and circumstance.  Ignorance (didn't know any better); fears (never to see the light of day because they may be worse than I'd even imagined); cowardice (not in a keep-a-stiff-upper-lip-culture1), and a