Nothing works

January 22 is the most depressing day of the year, a scientist claims.

I'm pretty sure I fit the description of clinically depressed right now. Apart from the time spent thinking about how I want to be buried (green, in the backyard, absolutely no casket or embalming, or cremation if legally necessary, ashes in ceramic urns), I guess I'm handling it pretty well.

A looming dread hovers over everything. Maybe if I figure out how to file my taxes from last year, I'll be OK. I still haven't recovered from the four months and counting that the IRS and IDES have been snooping and wreaking upheaval in my life.

Today, I found someone to sub for me on my daily delivery route. If it works out, it will be the first time in more than a year. I'll spend most of today sitting in my office, worrying about how things are going on the route, so it probably doesn't count as time off exactly. But maybe it is setting things up for future relief.

Our dog died last week, suddenly and without warning. I stopped using nicotine. That really depressed me.

I woke up in the middle of the night last night, in the middle of a dream about San Francisco. Someone was taking money out of my wallet. I felt sorry for the person more than for myself. It depressed me to catch someone doing something so sad.

April will soon come. Then I can start sneezing again. My eyes will water. But, for a change, it won't be tears, just allergies. Not sure if that, or anything, really matters.

Prayer? Well, let's just say I googled the Time Magazine cover from 1967 and made it my desktop wallpaper.