Although this is my blog, I never seem to post enough pictures of myself. Here’s a rather small, blurry and not-so-sure-what-expression-it-was-meant-to-be photo of myself taken last November.

While I didn’t know, I figured my Brother would, so I asked him, and he said,

‘Yes, you can change the size of the photos you take with your camera phone.’

I was relieved.

But it came four months late.

Concerning the Author’s battles with Miss Depression.

Depression. Ah yes. I could write endless pages on my battles with her.

When I’m struggling through one I’m too far ‘in’ to write well. It’s too much bitching, too random and too already better done by others of raving eloquence I can’t begin to approach.

But it seems to me that writing about depression (here, in this blog) must be done while I’m in it.

Anything else seems so unnecessary.

I heard tools like therapy and logic and reason help to lessen the effect. Some medications have made it go away for months or even years. Medication helps sometimes, but I’m told it’s dangerous. (I believe it.) Alcohol has never helped and in fact I don’t drink.

I hear Pot can help, but is so unpredictable and imprecise. I believe we need more scientists to spend more time researching on this kind of stuff.

An unexpected hug from your lover can work temporary wonders, or an encouraging word from the friend. Those are good.

Even still, the bad days are…bad.

I’ve learned that I can still work within the limits. I can still do 3D. I can still Blog.

I feel as though I’m made of some kind of stone. My face doesn’t feel familiar.
Saw the movie Rocky Balboa. The movie makes me want to cry and I did. Just a tear.

Today I don’t like my work, or my reflection and I won’t talk on the phone. Matters not. No one calls.

But I can answer a comment or an email if you like.

Schools are not a place for the faint-hearted, even on the best of days.

The temperature was so hot outside. The sun was having its fun. Rain would feel better.

Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow I might not wake up feeling like someone who is hopeless, someone who is not me.

Till Tomorrow.

Memory feeds imagination.
- Amy Tan (1952 - )

Be not slow to visit the sick.
- Ecclesiastes

Always do right. This will gratify some people and astonish the rest.
- Mark Twain (1835 - 1910)

Choose the life that is most useful, and habit will make it the most agreeable.
- Sir Francis Bacon (1561 - 1626)

Man is the only animal that can remain on friendly terms with the victims he intends to eat until he eats them.
- Samuel Butler (1835 - 1902)

In which the author considers finding a blank sheet of paper to stare at it.

It’s going to be a long night, with work going on one computer and one very big Laptop. I’ve spent more time working lately than procrastinating, which works out well for people like me.

Let me say something about the wisdom of chipping away at something. I don’t employ it often enough, though its logic is indisputable. It seems I wait too often. I wait and I lug my dreams around like a heavy suitcase because I can’t let go, but can’t convince myself to find time for them.

Short term goals eat up the long term plans and the days go by and I arrive at the future blinking in surprise.

It’s not like time travel.

It is time travel.

Twenty minutes. Just once a week. Maybe the twenty minutes consists of finding a corner of my desk to work at. Possibly it consists of staring at a blank sheet of paper and thinking about the “it” I want to do.

Maybe it consists of finding a blank sheet of paper and stare at it.

It is, after all, as they say, a process. Wise folk, who’ve written books, produced plays, learned the piano, shaped their bodies, and mastered difficult languages will say it works.

I would tend to believe them.