Up from the rabbit hole!

NASA, the needle has landed. Hello, Mr. Biopsy! ...

... goodbye bling-less boob (they leave a teeny titanium clip in there in case they ever need to go back in -- a kind of "X" marks the spot.)

OK ... on to the next thing. Which is sleeping (stress, how exhausting it is!!), a Red Sox game in Anaheim (2 down so far, with both Manny & Ortiz out tonight?! Not looking especially good). The series is blown, but we'd do well to win a game with the Yankees climbing up our tailpipe.

Ahem.

Before, during, in the middle of all that ... looking back over the nearly 1,000 photos in my Tribe album. And a realization: that for a long time I could not talk sensibly, or coherently, in sentences. Oh sure, I put words together, but I could not unseal my soul and unburden myself of the groaning dreams, straining forward for some bright and shining future. For lovelinesses which, in those long, dark days, escaped me.

Like a lepidopterist, I fixed image after image under virtual glass. Pixels were my pronouns, my prepositions, my piecing together of something resembling a beautiful and lost world. Or at world lost to me, at any rate.

Depression is a kaleidoscopic thing, oftimes dark and scary. The baubles bounce around in the churning brew and up from the depths come these talismans, collected like charms on a bracelet of tears, hopes, fears.

Life goes on.

I wait for the results of the biopsy, and yet ... I cannot wait to live again. I can't afford to wait.

I don't want to wait.

L.A.E.