Dum Spiro, Spero

I was really depressed this afternoon. So depressed, it's too depressing to talk about how depressed I was.

So just take my word for it that the abject depression and anxiety was just all over the place.

While I was busy feeling sorry for myself and writing my own future eulogy, I became still more despairing.

And then a Cicero (?) quote came into my head, Dum spiro, spero.

Then I had an internal debate over the philosophical validity of the statement. The debate pretty much went nowhere, but I was obliged to look up the quote to see to whom it's usually credited, because it was bothering me that I couldn't remember.

I can't imagine passing on my garbage DNA to a child. The kid will end up blind as a mole, running into walls on a daily basis, and will probably be shunted off into pseudo-intellectual obscurity after spending elementary school memorizing the sequence of Pi and the entire contents of 501 Latin Verbs. In college, the kid will be subject frequent nervous breakdowns while writing papers on calculus and economic theory, and will end up employed in a comic book shop in Berkeley after a long suffering, decade spanning career obtaining more useless degress than even me.

Musicians, poets and artists get depressed and produce inspiring works. I get depressed and have Cicero flashbacks.

I need to go back to work before my brain freezes up and I can only communicate in Egyptian cartouche.