Monday: Bike crash

There are some indications that I might be hurting more than "just a hard time," which is ironic because "depression" is a disease I've always questioned the validity of. I've retained by functionality and I have an overall positive attitude, so I would say that my prognosis is good. What I am missing most is, well, myself, and the things I used to enjoy as myself. It's frustrating living life in an emotional fog.

What I do have to admit was briefly thrilling is the nasty fall I took on my bicycle Friday night. Yes, alcohol was involved, however, not the consumption of it. Lost the bike, which ended up sandwiched between myself and another rider. I felt terribly sorry for causing the accident, but upon confirming my and the gentleman's (And our steeds') well-being, I realized that it was almost a relief to experience physical pain, it felt real, it felt raw, it felt like something.

My ego, of course, is most wounded, and that night I felt so disappointed and embarrassed I almost went home. But, thanks to the tremendous support of my friends, I stayed, and had a very good night. For a major crash it was not that bad, and my battle wounds look fucking gnarly!

Yes, I was wearing my helmet. And I was sure glad I did.





Rode all day Saturday, came down in a tungsten glow with unexpected companions and low easy music. Took a nap at the absurd hour of nine in the evening, overslept, woke with a start, and somehow made it in time to catch Ben Oprstu at the Medusa Lounge.

Photos in the following post.