When depression threatens, as it so often does in these circumstances, I resort to meaningless but pleasing activities like organizing my CD collection. I anticipate its complete alphabetization soon. I realize I need to reorganize the memoires. Obviously themes are getting crossed. Can you tell what's bothering me right now? Stupid little me. Piles of corpses over there, just absolute piles, woman shot on the bridge attended to by the soldiers, an economy that is getting what it deserves and I whine about a little broken heart? Heh, deep as I'd like to be I am shallow. A shell. I am looking within and there is nothing. Autoblogical data? I write. I can't easily delete my work (chance and my choice of media do enough of that), but I can chop it up and move it around so you at least get the theme you selected. Patience please, we're busy falling apart.