Transitions

Yeppo, more than a year between entries. Not too bad. You can see where I left off, mid campaign. All the spin made my normal state, psychotropic drug dizzy, so much more so to be intolerable. And blogging became too much like work, my past work, my abandoned occupation or forced retirement depending on which side of the horseshoe desk you're on.

I've preferred Twitter. More like hit and run opining. See it, vent it, go back to ironing linens like it never smashed through my life. Past editors who pulled their hair out and turned the air blue over my need to push deadlines and story length would find it laughable that I can fit a thought into 140 characters. Even with my tendency toward triple tweeting.

To the point, I felt the need for a transition. Between then and now. Today it occurred to me that those points and problems of last June seem small compared to the present. I've heard it said clinical depression is less among the poverty stricken. Not strictly because they can't afford a clinic to be diagnosed in, but because in their survival mode of trying to buy food, pay bills, clothe children, they just don't have time.

Well, it seems there is less time in a lot of our lives lately. I can't decide whether real angst, over how to get through next month, heightens or trumps the virtual panic caused by brain chemicals that don't pay attention to rising unemployment and an IRA that doesn't appear will provide enough to live long term. I figure that one will sort itself out when we finally do crash and I can't afford those numbing drugs anymore. Or things pick up and the environmentally caused anxiety lessens.

Either way, this ain't Kansas, Dorothy.