How absorbing I am to me. Looking at my last post about dying, I see it's not nearly as morbid as I would have had myself beleive, convinced in part by the concern of friends that I was at the time deeply depressed.

I must admit that the coming of longer days has helped my mood, also the dropping of magneisum from my daily pill regimen. It seems to have driven my tiny chemical mind into a frenzy of anxiety about everything. Something the local GP confirms can happen. They don't tell you that on the bottle.

I am squandering money on magazines and books today ($80), equal to a quarter almost of the weekly pension. What a devil I am in the Spring. Should I worry that I'm entering a phase of unrealistic optimism?