A little depressed today, a little down. Of course there are a thousand trillion things in the world to be sad about, but it seems a shame on a day that's such an over the top example of a beautiful spring - almost crystal bright and with the world filled with color and blooms and birds, especially the crows. Tonight, they've figured out to come down when I'm writing on the porch and have me toss 'em little snacks. 

I feel tired. I want to write about things that make me feel better to write about, but that stuff seems to be in short supply.  I've been thinking about how much time I invest in keeping my own secrets, even from myself. Usually, when I sit down to write, that world opens up, but now it feels blunted and stupid. I feel dumb and exhausted, thinking of it now. 

See, I'm even writing like a boring, depressed person. At least the night is cold and interesting. All day, I've been able to see a half slice of moon. I like to write and think about the moon, because it's such an intimate thing to track - each moment that you take to notice and enjoy it is yours alone in such cold, perfect privacy. And yet it's a literal satellite, and anyone can be looking up and being with it at the same time as you. People you can't stop loving, people you have always hated, enemies, friends, old school mates, acquaintances, animals, idealized versions of yourself, lost romances, losers, landscapers, people driving by but most of all that purest class of true, real stranger - there's always a chance they're looking up at the same time as you. There's always someone on the other side of that reflected light.