In which The Gay Recluse wonders when the fog will burn off.

Lately it seems that every morning we wake up in a fog.

And we feel sort of hopeless, because even though logic dictates otherwise, we wonder if this will be the day that the fog is permanent.

And we’ll never see the sky again. Or the sun or the moon or the stars.

Or anything resembling a gain in our 401(k). Lol.

It’s easy to become despondent when the future is so uncertain.

Until we remember other periods of our life, when it was so much more certain.

And how we were even more unhappy then than we are now.