I'm feeling low today, partly because my ambitions for my next vid are proving way beyond my current skills.
But really, what a luxurious thing to be depressed about!
To a limited extent*, I am a fan of the "it could always be worse" school of cheering-up employed by the boy in My Life as a Dog. He was always trying to feel better about his sad life by thinking of awful things that happened to other people--like someone who was walking across a sports field accidentally getting a javelin through the chest.
The worse the bad examples you need to employ are, the more you know your life is tragic.
Today I do NOT have to compare my life to Zimbabwe to feel lucky.
This is only a "some-people-don't-even-know-how-to-upload-pix-off-their-digital-cameras" day.
Yep, writing that out just perked me up quite a lot.
*(In fact, this "it could be worse" technique really only works for minor, self-indulgent pains.
True sadness and grief need recognition and comfort, such as, say, for lost love, an evening reading Pablo Neruda, weeping, and drinking sangria. Jollying-up of the "get over it" variety is illegal in these cases.)
_____________________
And, here--I can't publish a post without a photo anymore, so here's a photo I'd saved a while back of the grave of Philip Larkin, who cheers us up by reminding us that we are not dead. He was a rather unpleasant character, but he deserves his epitaph, WRITER, more than most.
Note it's the same one Douglas Adams has on his tombstone. What otherwise entirely different fish.
