Depression is the pits

Every time I do a page for the weekly is another chance for me to feel depressed about myself all over again. I choose the stories, I find the photos, I lay it all out, I print it out, I double-check the whole thing — and then it comes back to me with full of pencil markings showing the simplest of mistakes.

I’ve come to interpret each pencil editing mark as a personal sleight. It probably isn’t, but who knows? No, wait, it definitely isn’t.

Anyway, here’s a picture of me with the little one. He’s about four months old here, having a quiet moment before (as I recall) an awful lot of shrieking. This was just before he started getting all clingy with his mother.


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