"The report of my death was an exagerration."

It's been a hard and difficult week. I'd like to apologise to everyone in advance if I caused them undue worry. There were a few who thought I was suicidal. In response to one sensitive contributor: No, I don't need a "flingue." (This guy was one of the dorks responsible for triggering my depression and I gotta tell you, he proves the rule that men only pretend to be sensitive when they want to have sex with you.)

I've rarely been depressed in my life, so that horrible feeling, not being able to leave the bed, the house, do anything besides lie in bed and stare at the ceiling in hopes the ceiling will crash down upon me, leaving a body-size cut out in white, that horrible feeling was something new. That, coupled with indecent amounts of raw anger. I guess it was a good thing I stayed away from people.

Things that have helped me deal with this horrid moment: Curb Your Enthusiasm, Pim's Cookies, red muscat grapes, Kleenexes, turning off ringer on phone, playing the Farfisa, the imaginings of secret lives of potatoes, thinking about what a mexican eskimo taco joint could look like, Monty Python scripts, sleeping a lot, not drinking almost any alcohol, not taking any drugs, smoking a pack a day.

I like traffic lights, but only when they're green.