Because, as it turns out, a good fit of depression might be exactly what I need in order to get back to productive writing. At last: scientific proof that very fucked-up people really are more creative people.
I can feel better about my neuroses now. Woot!
But whilst I'm still happy, I'm going to finish that last book on glaciers I've got, read the long-awaited second half of Connie Willis's two-part book, peruse great geology blogs, tour a hospital, watch a fuck of a lot of Castle (we've got season two, y'know!), write up some geology, play with the kitteh, and enjoy my wonderful new car. Come the first of November, if the gray, rainy days haven't done the job, I'll hold some onions up to my eyes and fake it 'till I make it.
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I just picked up Iain M. Banks' latest novel, which is about what the last decade might have been like had aliens been meddling in our affairs, or some such. At the rate I'm reading it, it should last until winter.
You should note this bit from the article:
While sadness makes us more focused and diligent – the spotlight of attention is sharpened – happiness seems to have the opposite effect, so that good moods make us 20 percent more likely to have a moment of insight.
Being happy has its advantages, too.
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