Jesus, she looks happy!

Whilst laying in bed yesterday and trying to convince myself that being physically sick means I should try to rest, I thought of a box under my bed.

"Blake, can you please grab that box?"

"What box?"

"The one under the bed"

"Why is there a box under the bed? The dog probably ate it"

"PLEASE GRAB THE BOX"

I don't mind grabbing things, really I don't, its the human condition---needing to grab things.

But my body is not on my side this week. It coughs and it aches and it passes me out. Thank you antibiotics, now please do your job. It's hard to give credit to drugs made from mouldy bread. I don't even like bread.

"Is this it?" he asks. His curly hair sticking out in various irritating places.

Ah, it it. The box says "Happy Light" and a model is sitting on the beach in some complicated yoga pose.

This box should say "props and seductive model who will probably go cry after this shoot are not included."

Fine, whatever, maybe I'll do more yoga soon and be better looking if I use it. So, now, I sit here at 7:51 on Sunday (everyday is a workday) and this stupid light is shining a very unlike sun beam into my face. Like an amped up flashlight.

But apparently, this works for people. I have low hopes. September is bringing me to my knees again. Bloody hell. There are a few variables here, on the light,I  wrote an article on it for HealthyPlace.com( see link below): a relationship on the rocks, a deadline for articles and publishers and I just never stop working. Actually, it's the only thing that makes me happy. Chocolate works too, sort of.

I think I might be getting a sunburnfrom this. But I would pay anything to not want to cease living in the winter. Anything at all. Save for my written word and, well, no...that relationship is more painful then anything else at the moment.

Here's to artifical light. Right

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