Nowadays it's starting to seem as if the only time I write in this is when I'm under the influence of caffeine or alcohol, and this post shall be no different. The two substances are an apt metaphor for the far ends of that precarious parabola called manic depression, on which I currently happen to be skewing far to the manic side. After spending the bulk of July traveling to various corners of the northern hemisphere--I'll spare you the boring details because no one wants to

One moment you are trapped in a waking nightmare of unceasing work, feeling all sorts of futilistic about the absurdity of the Sisyphean tasks on your docket, wondering whether any of it makes any sort of difference, feeling grumpy or, worse, utterly numb, unsatisfied with your personal relationships and your inability of late to connect with anyone in a meaningful way, feeling bored, unfulfilled, unchallenged, unmotivated, all the un's. Then the sun, warm and ebullient, offe

For me, coffee and productivity go hand in hand. On the rare days that I allow myself to drink it, I seem to accomplish everything. Fueled by a mere twelve ounces of this mysterious, mercurial nectar, I go from 6am workouts to rehearsals to work to house-cleaning to laundry to practicing to cooking to more rehearsals without so much as a heavy-lidded eye or drowsy head nod. But because of its numerous adverse effects on me, I seldom partake of the stuff. So according to the t