My phone is off. I’m envisioning a turn-on date of Monday, maybe Tuesday. I really want to get on an airplane and gun it back to Australia, but I know that’s not going down for a few years.
Besides, I came here to publish a book. I’ve done everything else I said I would, that’s still lingering.
I’ve felt tremendously sad over the past few days. It’s a dull saddness sunk in the pit of my stomach. Comes and goes, goes and comes.
One in ten Americans pops anti-depressants. It’s also estimated that 70% of this country is popping something. That’s something I’ll never do. I think being sad is a natural emotion to endure. Earth is really, and I mean really, a trecherous land. Humans are unevolved and life really sticks it you sometimes.
I say, walk it off. Better yet – write it off.
When sad times roll around, my phone gets shut off. I find a sad song to listen to on repeat, and 
eventually a few poems snap me out of it.
I don’t understand why people want to deny ever feeling sad, or eat pills to pretend like they don’t feel that way. I’ll admit, it’s not fun when you don’t want to get out of bed or communicate with any living creature that isn’t one of the puppies – but when it passes, I always come out better than before the most recent bout of despair looms.
In this day and age, if you have happy and sad days, they smack you with a title like “bi-polar” and give you some drugs so that you feel nothing at all, or falsely elated.
I’ll stick to sad music, poetry and no phone. It hasn’t seemed to fail me yet.