Emerging from my burrow

Yes, I know. It's been a long time, and about that I will only say, depression is an evil affliction, lifting for a few days to a few weeks of blessed lucidity, only to return with renewed vigor. Much like the party guest who lingers well into the wee hours--the more you want him to leave, the more determined he is to stay.

Fortunately, in my lucid periods I did have a large backlog of ideas, so expect them to start appearing in future Mixed Tapes, if Hutcho will be so kind as to accept them.

It seems more and more in the last couple of years, I find it difficult to sleep--and when I do sleep, it's anything but refreshing. Sleep deprivation fogs my thinking and kills my creativity, but ironically, getting more sleep only makes things worse. For the first hour after waking, my mind is nonfunctional, and I cannot remember simple things (such as the names of my friends and caregivers). Writing requires a level of mental acuity that I'm finding harder and harder to reach. It's become so that I worry I may be becoming prematurely senile.

So I'm back, for now. But I can't guarantee how long I'll stay.