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…could tell you about how my depression has been getting worse. How I have been considering chemical interventions for it. How I remembered how the last time I required anti-depressants it was quite a few months after an event I had to pretty much eradicate from my memory. How I’m riding my bicycle a whole lot these days trying to beat it off with naturally enhanced endorphins and serotonin and norepinephrine or whatever making yourself hurt on a bicycle does that makes you forget everything and occasionally overly verbose about not much in particular.

…could tell you about how my day job has come to an end and I’m trying to figure out what to do next. How I’m working on a new project that has blown past all attempts to deadline it. How I’m scared shitless to pursue that thing full time because I’m afraid it will be an abject failure. How I don’t know if I even want to work right now except that funds are down after the medical bills and the property taxes and the etc.

…could tell you about how I don’t know where that property tax bill went. How I don’t remember seeing it cross my desk. How hard it is to do normal shit these days.

…could tell you about how this morning on my drive to a morning group ride my trunk lid came loose and I had to pull over into a parking lot of an empty little office building on the I-30 service road just east of Grand. The same god damn parking lot that I pulled over into the day we were told she was probably not going to make it, and I couldn’t drive any more because I was losing my shit. And this morning I had to pull into that same parking lot because of my god damn trunk lid, and when I came to a stop instead of balling and balling and begging God and begging God I just cursed at him. I cursed at him like Cee Lo Green except without melody and with a lot more anger and bitterness.

…could tell you about how two people total have downloaded my last record in the 6 days since I released it and how that’s about 0.3% of my Twitter followers alone. And one of those people is my Mom, who isn’t on Twitter anyway.

…could tell you about what a fine cook my wife is and about the homemade veggie red curry she made tonight and the friends we had over and whose company we enjoyed.

…could tell you about the mean strangers on the internet who probably thought I wouldn’t read their comments about me and about this blog and about how stupid it was that I had not consulted them about how best to grieve. “What Daniel needs to do is…“

…could tell you about all the failed attempts my brain has made at creating some semblance of a tautology for this thing. How none of my experience or faith or culture has provided any tools for dealing with it. How they have only provided frameworks that crumble under its weight, pain for their attempts at grace, crumbling ruins for their attempts at meaning.

…but I don’t really feel like it.