In other news, this is probably the most melancholy, sad xmas for me in my whole life, or that I can remember anyway, but hey, 's'all good, the person that triggered that mood almost 2 months ago sent me an email this week (actually the day after she and her new boytoy set me back about a month in my healing process), recommending a book about dealing with male depression, called "I Don't Want to Talk About It." Which is a totally stupid (though my therapist concurs that it's a good book, actually) and innapropriate title, for me, because I do want to fucking talk about it and I have been. Ask any friends of mine, especially in tucson, and they'll tell you i've been talking their ears off. I want to talk about it so bad I'm getting close to torturing you all with even more details right here and embarrassing someone just to be mean. But I'm holding back. so far.

No, actually, things are getting much better. I'm just being dramatic for the sake of the holiday. I fucking hate xmas. I hate that the xians stole the winter solstice from pagans, and I hate that the capitalists stole xmas from the xians, and i hate that they all stole my birthday from me, and I hate that it's in the darkest dreariest time of year in the northern hemisphere.

But, no really, stuff is progressing, I'm making it better. I'm taking steps, I'm inching towards truth and happiness and wholeness again and I'm going to pull myself up out of my bardo and metaphorically reincarnate as a slightly smarter, wiser, shinier, sexier, hopefully higher on the karmic ladder but lower on the purity test scale being, hopefully not a carp or a dung beetle - maybe a platypus or wombat or yoga instructor or organic farmer or manatee or professional filmmaker or novelist or blue whale?. I dunno. but it will be just in time for the new year, isn't that convenient? well, have a great day, que te vaya bien, vaya sin dios, blah blah blah.