I haven't been writing much lately and I'm not really sure why.

I sit down and stare at a blank screen for a few minutes and then I think of five hundred things that I need to do.

And to be honest--I don't know if I have anything worth saying right now. My head is a mess most days, a tangle of thoughts and questions and doubts. I don't get as fired up and upset about things as I use to, mostly now I just get sad. The world is so fractured million and one many ways, macro and micro.

This hospital I've been working at for the past couple months is the hospital that serves the indigent population of Nashville.

The man who lives in a truck that doesn't run and who has to walk out into the cold with a jacket that is torn and battered.

The man in his sixties who got kicked out of the halfway house because he was drinking again.

And then there was the man standing at the corner of the town that I live in, not even a decade older than I am, holding a piece of cardboard that says so much more than the four marker scrawled words it holds, whose tired face had a wide smile when I handed him a daffodil today.

See I believe in personal responsibility and truth and right and wrong but...its so easy for me to say as someone who never ever worried if I was going to eat the next day. Never had an adult in my life abuse or belittle me, never went to bed frightened about what might wake me up in the night.

It's so easy for me to say as someone who has never had a memory that screams to be numbed.

And I don't know what to say about any of it most days, except that it makes me profoundly sad.