It is still rough.

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I am thinking that the lack of sun has been a part of my ineptitude of late. Of course, having lungs that seem half full of fluid along with coughing, having no computer to organize my thoughts through blogging and writing out goals, losing contact with the few people with whom I have familiarity, and a few other things do not help. I never thought I would admit this, but I am looking forward to warmer weather. Not so much for the warmth as for a hope to see more sunshine. I am no sunophile, to be sure. I simply realize I need sunshine as much or more than I need a regular diet. Food has not tasted good lately. I have been struggling to work up the energy to cook, and then clean to cook again. Even my favorite foods taste good mostly from memory rather than present consumption. And yet, deep inside, I am as hungry as ever. I want to want food more than have actual hunger, but it is there.

If I suffer from depression to any degree, it would be when the sun does not shine enough for some period of time. How long it takes to bring me down I cannot say. How long the depression lasts once the sun begins to shine I am not certain. Then again, my guess is that quantity and quality depends a great deal upon other factors and so would never be quantifiable by any static metric. Of course, something else I realize is this means my main complaint probably has little or nothing to do with depression. While depression comes and goes, broadens and diminishes, for me it goes away but without giving me anything of my life back. No one could be depressed for this long or have it be this deeply disturbing without simply dying from not eating, I think. No, I am crippled. Depression is something I share, occasionally and rather typically, with the rest of the human races. Never mind the overpaid bureaucrat types who believe their sheepskin wallpaper actually means they understand anything. Mommy or daddy or their own peculiarities lead them to a cushy job with no real measure of success other than money and the prestige conferred by A-list clientele.

I have passed several opportunities to buy a chainsaw, but that is the next thing on my list. I need it more than want it, and sooner is far better and wiser than later. With electricity to my home being threatened, along with various dangers such as fire and atypical electric shock therapy for me and mine, I need to get on that. I looked at the situation and am not sure a ladder would directly help. It might, however, make climbing the trees easier by getting me closer to the branches which would potentially support me, assuming that would work at all and there is some reason to wonder. I will say, the chores ahead of me will be fraught with danger. Just imagine three hundred pounds of man, machine, and gear out on some limb balancing and trying to use a chainsaw thirty feet off the ground. My balance is extremely good, reflexes are great, but stamina is shot and all of the other variables are new to me. How much weight does a particular branch hold? How much will that branch swing when some chunk of it is cut off? How am I going to keep that cut off chunk from doing exactly what I am cutting it to prevent, breaking the electric wire? I have some limited climbing gear, but that too is untested. Should be interesting. I might have to sell tickets. If I survive, the proceeds might come in handy. If not, perhaps the money could help bury me.

My finger has fully healed, by the way. I guess I forgot about it and it is now as flexible as ever. There is still a solid scar lump at the wound entrance. But if you did not know to look for it you would not see it, or even really feel it. How odd. I do heal well, better than I have any right to heal, and faster than I would suspect. I would guess I heal better than most people can heal. I was made to be wounded! I am really not looking forward to tree trimming, with that realization. Ah well, any wounds would make for blog fodder, assuming my hands are still attached... and my head.

Good night.