I spent about the last two days being depressed something awful, for reasons I can't quite explain. Possibly this week has had too much of the mundane in it. And I'm just feeling tired and burned-out and needing some kind of change in my life that I have control over. Enh.
I was so bummed out that by the time I walked to my appointment with TheRapist this afternoon, I barely even registered the plentiful eye-candy that Spring has populated our fair campus with, which seems a telling enough yardstick of having things in my head be fucked up pretty good. A helpful session this time, though, and I had a much better trip back. Ah, college. One of these days I'm going to have to sift back through the last couple of years and figure out exactly when it was I became a dirty old man.
Tonight Stacy's gone up to see an Orioles game with Greg and Charles, giving me a coupla hours of comics-and-spooky-music to burn. Not bad, and worth giving up the nachos and Boog sandwich for, even though it might nearly have been worth it to go and watch Greg get his geek on for the Great Game. Nearly. But, dammit, I got the new Lucifer waiting for me.
In other wow-cool news, I learned last night that ex-Crim bassist and Chapman stick god Tony "Papa Bear" Levin was at the DC peace march last month, which makes me even prouder to be a big old proghead than ever. And he took pictures. Wow - I remember a lot of those signs. That makes a second time I've been within a mile or two of Tony Levin, counting NEARfest '01, though I wonder if I'd've registered it was him at the march. Probably not - in all likelihood, my brain would've processed something like "Wow, that guy looks like Tony Levin" and moved on. A shame - that had the potential to be nearly as cool an encounter as Martha L. getting to shake hands with Jeanine Garofalo the week before.
Oh, it's past five. Time to go the fuck home.