After finishing my thesis I feel a bit lost. It took up so much of my time: I didn’t read newspapers or watch the news, I didn’t read for leisure (a loved past-time), I didn’t watch my favourite television programmes and I didn’t participate in the skinnering and fighting so prevalent in a big family like mine.
Now I’m not clued up on who did what. Now when I hear a story it’s already old news and lacks the zest and intrigue of a freshly minted story…
Countless stories pranced by without my input or scrutiny. Sob.
How do I feel about it? I don’t know. It certainly kept me safe from developing conflicts. But now I have lost touch with the vein of intrigue and boisterous laughter that punctuates most of our conversations.
Consisting if nine siblings, seven women and two men, and their partners and children, my family is a very good antidote to depression. After visiting with them the world looks brighter.
I feel myself smiling when I think of something somebody said. There are raconteurs of note in my family and a prevailing viewpoint that recognizes the absurd and the outright funny part of struggling with this thing called life.
Cornelia Smith Fick 