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I think that to focus this "blog" I will allow myself the indulgence of publicly exploring the nasty state of things inside my head. But don't be alarmed, if you are reading this. I am in the august company of the many artists both famous and forgotten who battled and continue to battle what was once known so poetically as manic-depression and now is called bipolar disorder. Mine, specifically, is bipolar depression, which means that more often than not I am depressed but these dull states are leavened from time to time with a bout of hypomania, during which I make grand plans, am quite productive, talk a lot, and don't sleep. Both of these states, the depressed and the elevated, would be manageable if I could control when and how and how long and all that. But I can't. So I am at the mercy of my brain chemistry, and while I am quite functional through sheer force of will, like all structures time takes its toll and my walls have cracks. Thus my writers' block, my inability to realize my ideas (although I have been fairly successful in the past); I am still capable of creating things of beauty and that is my reward. It is important that I remind myself of this. And I do. And my friends do, but I have not confided this aspect of myself to many people. The irony of me writing this is that I am, as most people who know me would attest, a rather reserved and private person, not one to trumpet my virtue or accomplishments aloud. Perhaps this forum, where I am not face-to-face with the reader, allows me to say things that normally I would keep to myself.