Darkness, Darkness be my Pillow

I am depressed. Clinically, one supposes. I am spinning in place, with so many projects and ideas in my head, but too few hours in each day, and too little energy to create in the ones available to me to do so. I want to blog, but about what? Does anyone really want to hear me whine about such first world problems?

I am depressed about the political climate in my country. Are these shit-flinging chimps really viable presidential candidates? Have we, as a nation, completely lost the power of critical thinking, the ability to understand nuanced thought and complex concepts? (Don’t answer that. It was a dispirited, and jaundiced, rhetorical question.)

I am depressed about what used to be my career and is now reduced to a mere job, something I do eight hours a day to pay the bills. Although I am dangled carrots, I know them to be nothing more than carrots on a string, to be snatched away when I believe them to be within my grasp.

I am depressed about, well, everything.