From the Landlocked Republic of Longmont

I was reading an article written by a man who had been on psychotropic medications for a number of years. Maybe more. He went to a new doctor and, together, they decided to take a different approach to his problem. Instead of a daily regime of drugs to curb his highs and lows, he is now treating his illness as something that is episodic instead of being a chronic condition. This is an interesting concept. I hope it goes well for him, and that he'll share how the next five years work out.

I've always seen life as a series of stages. I'm not sure young people can see life this way, but it seems pretty obvious to me, at 60, that the progression to old age has a lot in common with climbing one of those long, steep set of stairs to the top of a Mayan ruin. It's easy to become tired, get hurt, or want to stop and sit down, but the view from the top turns out to be worth the climb.

I'm busy. Slammed. Just when I think I need a pitcher of Sangria, I get a jury summons. Shit. Now I'll have to go straight to gin. I know I still have some female hormones floating around because the first thing I thought was, "What the hell will I wear?" Of course, upon further consideration, the correct answer is: last year's Halloween costume. I just don't have time to perform my civic duty right now.

I'm going to carry on. I suggest you do the same.