First Half of 99

THE DARK DAYS
were bearable this winter. Like most SAD sufferers, we've learned to sedate our symptoms with a light box. (Sedate isn't the correct word, but I'm looking for an alliteration. I read somewhere that they are best avoided, so naturally we want to sprinkle them saucily all over the shop.)

With 240 dazzling fluorescent Watts in your face, together with magazines, coffee, ciggies, music and Friends videos (I'll be there for yooooouuu), even the darkest days can be tolerated. How well I remember phoning Stuart one November day, moaning the usual shit that depressives do, when he just barked, "Shut the fuck up and get under that light!" Never was nursing so lovingly given or received. Eat yer heart oot, Ratchett!

Our aim for 1999 is to do more than get to the end of it. Life's not a dress rehearsal. We've reached the age of reason now, aware that the main task each day is to remain alive until bedtime. But this behaviour, continued over days, months and years, does lead to a certain - how can I put it - stagnation. However, every time we try to improve our life - be it in work, play, or relationships - things just get even worse. So rather than "boldly go" we've developed instead a mindset of "don't move a fucking inch."

Strange, isn't it, how perceiving one's faults so clearly does nothing at all to change them? That's why psychoanalysis is a pure con. Hmm.

Anyway, enuf of my problems, More than enuf. For a really sad (true) story click here. Read it and weep.