flying through clouds of uncertainty on wings of existential dread
I’m saving what was going to be today’s cartoon for tomorrow, because Robin Williams died yesterday and I just can’t with the jokes right now.
It’s not just that I grew up adoring him, though I did. It’s not just that he had that brilliant spark of genius and madness combined, and that he tried to add light to everybody else’s life, even when he couldn’t see any in his own. It’s that depression is a dirty, stinking, ugly thief, and I need to scream and pound my fists at it, and I can’t. Or not with any effect, anyway.
Just last week I watched Moscow on the Hudson and laughed and cried and laughed again; I don’t think I’m going to be able to watch any of his more serious roles for a while now, but Mrs. Doubtfire may send me to sleep tonight. I know too many people who’ve lost the fight, or been burned up by it, and we have to do better for each other. We have to find ways to offer help, and ask for help, and accept help when our brains are lying to us. Please don’t make me say goodbye to another wonderful person? Please, everyone, stay whole, and if you do shatter, I promise to come help glue you back together.
I’m really good at puzzles.