Echo.

A tiny voice inside me has been whispering that she would like to write again.

I have told her, repeatedly, to hush.

I point to the house that's a wreck,

the depression that just. won't. quit,

and the fact that I ran out of things to write several months ago, which led to a neglected blog that is now quite empty.

I remind her that people with depression, like me, tend to be--for lack of a better phrase--kind of a downer. And the very last thing that a month like January needs?

A downer.

But she is such a pest, and she insists that she would like to write.

My apologies.

I tried to tell her...