When I was very young, I was depressed. And I was young for a very long time.

I'd stare at the shelves in my room. Some of them had hardly anything on them, and some of them had nothing on at all. I would stare at those shelves until I could hardly walk.

One day my mom came in from her 3am paper-round, and I knew the game was up, and that it was played with 2 balls. As she was walking out of the house with her hard-hat, she suddenly shouted, "When are you going to get a dog!?"

"Dogs aren't for people like me," I calmly replied, and returned to my nun's habit of not reading the newspaper.

I was much jungian front and back then, and the girl seemed a much simpler place.


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