Blue Eyed Bader

Just over a month ago I was feeling extremely depressed. Things at home were going pretty poorly as my wife seemed to be heading for some major depressive episode, my job was busy but finances were still strained and my daughter was having a hard time adjusting to the new place. Well, things have changed quite drastically from that point, and mostly for the good. My wife is now working two jobs although they are both part-time. She seems much happier aside from the occasional stress from working two jobs and my daughter has a good amount of friends that we barely see her during the day. I spent last week on a job that took me into the heart of the Rockies and I was loving every minute of it.  So needless to say things are almost back to normal for the most part and my depression is now in check. Honestly, I think the shift in my wife's medication changed her mood quite a bit for the better and her leaving her last job helped as well. We had morning sex a few

I found a notebook of poetry that I had written years ago in an old box after we moved. Back in high school and college I would carry around this notebook and write what I felt at the time. Some of the poems were interesting to read again, some I could not comprehend why I was even thinking that way. After reading quite a few of the poems I started to wonder why I don't write poetry anymore. Is it that I do not know what to write about, am I uninspired, am I just too busy. I used to read a lot of poetry back then... no not the romantic kind, more of the existentialist type, trying to find who I was through the words that I read and subsequently wrote. I donated some of my poetry books right before I moved recently, some of the ones that I have not opened in years. I probably should have kept them but I did not see myself reading them anytime soon, and they should be enjoyed by someone that would actually read them. Right before I donated the books, I thought about giving