Haven't done much of late.  I suppose it's due to a minor bout of semi-depression.  I say semi, because I'm not really "unhappy", however, I'm not "happy".  A friend of mine once told me that I am too comfortable being alone.  Maybe she's right.

The depression, I think, stems from the fact that I am an 54-years-old and I don't really like where I am in life.  For thirty years a decent job in retail afforded me the luxury of being able to pay my bills and rent out a one-bedroom apartment.  Within three years that ended.  Now I can't afford to live in South East Portland, because a studio apartment rents for 1300 dollars and up, and a one bedroom rents for 1500 dollas and up.  I am forced to live in Saint Johns, which I have slowly come to appreciate.  It's not that my situation is bad, it is not (I am fully aware that I have a roof over my head and can pay my bills, rent, and insurance) it's the overwhelming fact that I don't have a choice.  At the ripe age of 54; I have no choice.

For more than 30-years I have been struggling (and when I say struggling... I mean STRUGGLING) to turn my life-goal of being a published, and or, a paid writer into a career.  I can remember being young and living in Missoula, MT standing in the horror or fantasy aisle and yearning, with every fibre of my being, to see my name on the shelves.  And for 30-years I have had every door slammed in my face.  At the very least, ten years or so ago, agents and managers had the professional decency to send you a rejection letter, or email, or notice.  Now they claim they don't even have the time to drop an email saying, "Not for us, thank you", or simply "pass".  A no reply is a rejection, thereby alleviating them of any and all professional acumen that they had in the past.  And forget screenplays right now.  Hollywood is so twisted, so inane it appears the only thing they can produce are comic book movies, 80's reboots, or some Star Wars crap.  And if you even want to be considered for an Oscar you have to meet their D.E.I. rules!  The publishing industry may be just as bad (I have been actively querying now for a YA Sci-fi novel, I wrote, as well as an adult literary book) what with sensitivity readers who may or may not be experts in what... sensitivity?, but who, it would appear, have the power to veto or approve your book.

Madness.

So... and this might just come off as some whining, pity-party, I am 54-years-old without a home, without a woman, and without a career.  It's hard not to look in the mirror's reflection and not wonder, am I a fool. 

The one thing that keeps my head up, that keeps me going is the love and support I receive from my amazing friends.  I have always said, "I don't have much, but in regards to my friends... I'm the richest man in the world."