So I’ve been missing in action. Yeah. Gone. Mentally. Out to brunch. Living under a frock. Head buried in the flan. And other things. Sorry about that. But there was good reason. Well, there were reasons.
I’ve been depressed, dejected, and generally horrified. What can I say? I’m weak. And ashamed about it, too. Paralyzed by nihilism. Probably a little lazy. And the drugs don’t help. They may not hurt, but they do not help. I don’t know, exactly, but I’ve been in an existential funk, haunted by imminent futility—mine, yours, political, journalistic, comedic, artistic, humanistic. Is that a word? I don’t care. That’s a good sign. I think.