Hey old friend. I see you're back again. Well, maybe friend isn't the right word. I thought I was kicking some ass yesterday. But you came baxk today to push my chest back into the floor.

Was it that dream we had this morning about finding a side job before my job interview in two weeks? Was it the dream about witnessing the suicide of Chucky the murderous doll, upon the realization that he was growing breasts? I witnessed that from his eyes. What the hell was that about?

Or was it the ol' first girlfriend thing? Maybe that's closer to the punch. And reading about successful musicians who are younger than we are. That's always fun, isn't it?

What about that weird dream where you sniffed some coke? Wasn't that weird? We've never been interested in coke, and it always seemed like a waste of time. But there was that dream, that beautiful feel wafting through our body.

You know what? Thinking about that dream makes me feel a little better. Let's go art.

Dreams can be cruel.

I never thought of writing a letter to depression. If it helped, I'm glad. Perhaps I will have to try that trick next it it rears its ugly  head.