The black dog, for those who are unaware, was Churchill's term for depression. Well, it's standing next to me at the moment. Work problems are somewhat awful right now, and getting worse, and together with the PTSD and GID I am not doing very well. Not cycling, not even going out the front door except for work and to get food.
Writing has taken a back seat, as you may have noticed. The dog has me by the throat and won't let go. Normal service may or may not be resumed at some point.