Depression is when I decide to go for a short pleasure drive and don’t bother taking a camera along.   Depression is when I go downstairs to do a laundry, look at my drafting table, and then look away. Depression is when I just want to sleep all day long over the weekend, until its time to go to work again Monday morning.

I took his Christmas cards down off the fridge this afternoon while cleaning the kitchen, and put them in the box with all the other cards and letters I’ve received over the years.   All but the first one, which was just a post card it seemed he’d tossed in the mail to me on the spur of the moment.