There was this day. It wasn't such a great day. I felt pretty morose. I feel that way sometimes. But it wasn't a morose that brought me to my typical, dysfunctional halt. It was a morose that made me want to create. It was a strange feeling. Most often when I'm morose it makes me want to curl up on the carpet and cease. And I'm not saying this piece is particularly well executed. It isn't one of my better efforts, especially given the circumstances. But I'm proud of it. I'm proud of it because I gave that effort, even though the effort was hurried and clunky. I'm proud of it because it represents a strengthening of character, which, in my life, has been slow in its manifestation. And it feels good. It feels good to not have carpet-indent lining the side of my face. It always feels good to push back.