It's wicked to mock the afflicted

My focus wobbles like a drunk. It staggers from painful thoughts to daily worries to fettering reflections whose momentary attention draws me into hour long melancholy contemplations. It is a funk I am in. A case of the blahs. Something that must be suffered until it passes, like a flu. I caught this mood after a long phone call from home. The news received was inevitable but never the less made me sink to where I am. What was the news? It's not important. A loss is a loss is a loss. Whether we lose someone we love or someone we love loses something. It differs only in degree of mourning. It will pass, and until then one cannot help but lament and spit out dark words like these.