Weather Report
2026-08-11
A funny way of observing these entries is that they are a daily "weather report" in a certain sense. More established readers are well aware of the patterns in my prose when I'm manic or depressed, and the themes I circle around in these entries. Well, if I had to give today's reading as a certain kind of weather report, I'd venture to say that things are looking mild. As I've been increasing the dosage of my anxiety medications—namely my buspirone and hydroxyzine—and losing more weight (almost 60 pounds down from my heaviest), my health has been looking better. I've been sleeping better at night and find myself waking up well before my 8 AM alarm most days now. I've been having an easier time regulating stress, and the equanimity of my life has made itself more apparent as I continue to churn through this project of mine. I'm still a bit afraid to take on any further stress, and I try my best to take things as slowly as I can. Masking my fatigue and burning out is never a fun thing, and I hope to be wise enough not to go through that again.
I've been trying to incorporate sets of morning and evening prayers into a prayer rule, but it's been quite difficult. Like I've mentioned before, prayer still feels boring, and I find myself losing focus when going through the prayers found in the prayer book I bought from my parish's bookstore. Clearly, the demonic influence makes itself more apparent when I tell myself, "Ah, I'm too tired to pray right now," and then bring a willful consent to perform some kind of sin later. Gross! I'd like to avoid deluding myself into saying that Cogito is some sort of longform prayer, as well. While I do speak on theology and a lived experience of faith, I have come to the important conclusion that writing itself is not a form of prayer. Sure, I have the pleasure of reading from the lives of the Saints—their correspondences, homilies, and hagiographies—but writing is a different practice. Here, the words are orchestrated and kept in the realm of the mind. While prayer and writing are both forms of communication, I have a greater respect for the vocalization and true isolation required for prayer. I think the Lord prefers it that way, especially because in prayer, there is no audience; all one has to worry about is approaching and maintaining communion with God.
However, I will say that writing prayers is a good way to get them memorized. When I memorized the Lord's Prayer, I did it Bart Simpson style—writing it over and over again until it finally got implanted in my mind, never to be taken away from my lips. I've been meaning to do that with more prayers, namely the Trisagion prayers and the best Psalm of them all, number 50. But I am a man plagued with an intense lack of focus, so I haven't quite gotten around to it yet because I'm like Alice with the damn rabbit holes. In due time, the Lord will lead me to the necessary self-instruction I need, but I am comfortable with taking things one day at a time, so as to not let my nous get too far unscrewed from my skull. Loving the humanities can be such a problem, even if it's a good one. There's always a good book to read, a good set of thoughts to hear, a new interesting mode of thought to understand. When I'm feeling well, it feels like I am constantly plundering through treasure, as if every word was meticulously crafted just for me—a wonderfully perfect and exciting set of gifts. But when I'm feeling not-so-well, it all feels like a needless distraction and a sad, horrifying nuisance. See? One day at a time.
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