So I have now spent three straight weekends without the loving embrace of Morpheus. Since he only chipped once a week anyway he's not experiencing any symptoms of withdrawal -- any physical ones, anyway. He is feeling a certain low-grade mental malaise that robs most events of their joy. Sure - he smiles, and laughs, in all the right spots. But there's something missing, goddammit. There's just nothing to look forward to. No reason to move one's schedule around a planned six hours on the couch. No sensation so intense the word "euphoria" hardly suffices. No pleasant afterglow that can carry over even to the next day. It's just over, and there's a patina of gray over everything that has nothing to do with impending Winter in New England. The worst thing is that I amn't doing this voluntarily. He certainly doesn't want to violate the ban on discussing sources, but suffice it to say that HIS sources pretty much have sucked lately. Curse the doctors and their uptight policies! I know, or hopes, that (supposing his "situation" doesn't improve) eventually this feeling will go away; that there will come a weekend where his most predominant emotion won't be melancholy. That this mild but everpresent sense of loss will one day leave him. He just wishes it would happen soon. Thanks for listening.