depression

Back in March, in the wake of L'Wren Scott's suicide, I wrote a blog post about my struggles with depression and times in my life when I've felt suicidal.

The Halloween show was last night--a million bands stretching into the night, hundreds of people crammed into what once seemed like a generous space until the room was filled with a palpable, heated force field of body odor and sweat.

NaBloPoMo March challenge. Completed.

I listened to Son Volt's Trace  constantly on that trip from Chicago to Sacramento.

This is what I do when I'm feeling particularly crazy: Listen to the same songs on repeat. The same damn sad, crazy-making songs. Sometimes I make entire playlists.

Two years ago it was the title track from Arcade Fire's Suburbs record:

This Hot Chocolate song has made almost every single damn playlist I've concocted in the last eight months. It just narrowly escaped my annual holiday comp.

The song played over that scene in Frances Ha--you know the one when Greta Gerwig's character is in Paris, alone and trying to figure shit out--just did me in.

I've been dealing with some quality depression lately.

I mean, this is the good stuff--no weak-ass, I'm just having a meh day kind of shit. But rather, a deep and hearty depression.