There are times when I feel like I’m only of value for two things: To my employers, how much work can they get out of me for the money they pay, and to everyone else, how much money I have for the things they want. I’m a walking, talking, income-outgo equation. Nobody wants to know what’s on my mind or hear about my day. I’m just here to shut up, smile, nod, and make sure I pay my bills on time. Or pick up the tab. Or cough it up for some surprise expense or another.

In case you’re wondering why my writing output fell off again, yes, I’m fighting my way through another depressive period. Paradoxically the summer weather is both helping and hindering my efforts. The full-spectrum sunlight and blue skies help, but the oppressive humidity and heat sap my energy something terrible. Living my entire non-work existence in my bedroom with the noisy rattling air conditioner only reduces the temperature factor, it sure doesn’t help in any other way.

Is it autumn yet?