It is incredible how delicate the mind is.  I truly envy those who are able to keep it on an even keel.  Perhaps its maturity that births this faculty: the dismissal or ignorance of a hyper-stimulated world, or maybe the even-keelers are burning up inside.  Whatever the case, I am certainly not one of them, and the mercury that is my own physiology seems to be in a constant state of flux.

I am coming off one of the worst weeks I have had in quite some time.  It was a week of emotional lows that was simply inevitable after three months of modest successes and grey matter (I dare not say psychological or mental for fear of stigma) well-being.  Alas, I was stung by the scorpion that can go by so many names, but in my case is called compunction, self-defeat, pessimism, and hypochondria (does saying its warranted defeat the concept itself?).

Yes I was sick, body and mind both.  In the months before starting the clarity I would sleep in till noon without a whisper of guilt.  Now, an idle minute murders me.  So being stuck on the couch fatigued and without ambition was a struggle.  Ailing, I questioned purpose and possibility.  I thought of what it would be like to have cancer, and how if I were ever to contract a terminal illness I would go out on my own terms.  That is probably not true, the will to live can make us do silly things.  I would, we would, probably all endure six ticklish bypass surgeries if we thought it would buy ourselves one more labored, albeit creative breath.

So yesterday with these tenebrous thoughts swirling my mother called to invite me to dinner.  I accepted, and in better spirits drank a beer and took a shower.  After two hours of stimulating conversation, exquisite cuisine, and a Samuel Adams I felt myself regaining strength.  This morning I edited two wonderful stories, jogged three miles, and wrote a persuasive letter to a potential clarity donor.  Right now, even though I am listening to Joy Division, I feel damn good and ready to put out our best issue yet.  I appreciate feeling this way.  Maybe it takes a turn in the mire to appreciate the ocean.

Am I a narcissist? Probably.  Do I sensationalize? Perhaps a little.

Let us drink to the day.

Does anyone know if Pat Sajak has ever slept with Vanna?  This question haunts me as I watch Wheel on the treadmill.