Standing by.

 Standing by. 

Sometimes the dysthymia sets in and I can’t turn thoughts into notes or notes into sentences or sentences into something remotely coherent, or I can’t get out of bed.

     But tomorrow or the next day, I hope, I’ll conclude the conversation Axel and I were having about Matthew 11, and I’ll tell about Alfredo's and my going to the drive-in movie.

07.30.20

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 * Or so I’m told. Not cuncatory anxiety. See here. I made that up. A joke. But not a very funny one, apparently. At least Dr. Feight didn’t think so, I discovered later. Who would have thought a character of my invention would lack in humor? But he doesn’t normally. So, the joke must have been truly unfunny. Sometimes I can’t tell.