I just read Q's post before I sat down to write this. Man, don't worry, I'm telling you it's a cycle. Things happen in the summer in bunches. August is the cruelest month. How many kids have been killed in amusement parks in the past week? Right? What you need is a life coach, somebody who can tell you all the things that are wrong with you--just so you can work on them. Face up to your problems and you'll be happier.
Or do like the Olympians do and get cupped. Cupping will get your good juices flowing again. You'll be fine, old chum.
Though, I have to say, I've had two friends speak of suicide this week. I'm telling you, this time of year is dangerous unless you are up in New England spending lazy days on cape beaches. That's where CC is, and another friend is going today. Be like a Kennedy, Q. Get a summer house on the shore. It is the cure to all your worries.
For me, though, there is no choice. The factory is cranking up the dial. This is a busy time of year. Summer's lease has all to short a date (or something like that). I haven't been able to sleep--I have a bad cabeza. Muy malo. My left Achilles is torn and my right knee is so painful, I wake in the night with pain that drives me from the bed (I'm sure I'm in for another surgery). To wit: I can't do Yoga with Adriene, can't meditate this shit out of my head. Awake in the darkness, I see myself a failure, all washed up.
So Q--you got nothing on me, pal, or probably ten million other people right now. The entire country is on the verge of a nervous collapse. Everyone is losing. Step up and take your beating like everyone else.
But I'm telling you, get a life coach. You think Nurse Ratched didn't love those boys? She only wanted to help them. Nope, it is the thing you need. It will do you the world of good. You don't want to end up like Randle P. McMurphy.
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