and then i sit there for about five seconds and answer, ‘not yet.’

it’s the worst kind of sick. i’m working at about 76% all the time. not bad enough to watch romantic comedies and rock and roll documentaries all day. but bad enough to make life flat and scratchy and heavy and thick.

one time in san francisco when i was working at chronicle books i had one of these sicks. it lasted about a week. then i got over it. or so i thought. then it came back again about two days later, and no shit, lasted for about another ten days. it went on so long i sorta adjusted to it. like, ‘well, this is life now. you turn 29 and the wheels come off (just kidding, tommy). everything is flat and scratchy and heavy and thick from here on out. no wonder most middle aged people look so miserable. they feel like this all the fucking time. shit. i should have done more when i had the chance. i should have stayed in europe longer. i shouldn’t have fucked around with her roommate. i shouldn’t have quit that band. i should have jumped off that cliff into the sea one more time. i should have said yes more …’

but then one day i woke up … 100%, baby. back in black. just kicked it. one of the best days of my life. i ran around the office like a gazelle. happy. still got it.

i hope that day comes again soon …

until then, a new friend sent me an email this morning. ‘i’m pretty sure it can heal you,’ it said, and had a link to this nice place called a softer world. do you know this?

so good! little picture poems with ha ha endings. sincere little gems. hundreds of ‘em.

so good …