Question Marks 3

Dear Dr. B.,

Sometimes I am spectacularly depressed.  Sometimes
I am spectacularly enthused.  Most times
I am spectacularly surprised,
genuinely so,
that I am still alive, and in that third moment
I am reminded that I
wouldn't be where I am without you.  Still managing,
in the purest sense of number crunch and asset allocation.

I am an island now.  By
choice I like to think.  The helping hands.  Go figure.  I
thought of a joke though,
remember you said I could
talk to you again if I thought of one:

Two vaginas walk into a bar.
The first girl says "I'll take a vodka and rossi."
The second girl says "I'll have what she's having, bourbon over."

The bartender says "on the same tab?"

He hands the bartender two cards and says "no."


I've been managing.  Life has been good
from the standpoint of
statistics.  It's been rough as all get out
from the standpoint of
everything else.  Things not metric, less magic.
Do you want a receipt, but I'm working.  Trying real
hard to take care of myself and not decouple from society
because I
can blink my eye and be so far away from where I need to be.
The voices have been loud, but I'm putting in a lot.
The outcomes are what and it's been paying
off, bit by bit, though I still slip and
get blindsided from time to time (it's exhausting being on guard so
much).

Anyway, I think I love you, but mostly I want to tell you that I'm
still not dead yet.

Thanks so much,

Mr. D.