Zach asked me if I had heard about Gingko, and if I had, why didn't I tell him. I thought he meant the herb and told him yes, but I forgot. Turned out to be a bad joke. He meant an online journaller.

Reading his entry, I realized that I have my own hell to face too, but I mostly gave up analyzing it to death some time ago. It turned out that analyzing it only made it that much more hellish. And it made me that much more an egocentric hypochondriac, that much more bent and sick and dysfunctional.

I now believe that I have spent most of my life being play impaired. Nearly all warm blooded species figure play into their humdrum lives; it's a point of survival. We humans tend to shortchange ourselves on play. Well, most of us. The rest make up for everybody else.

Sometimes I fail to remember to play. Remind me, if you see me. 

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