I'm riding on the El train the other day, running some errands. There's a stack of papers on the seat next to me with an ad for a nightclub:

I don't normally associate Martin Luther King's Birthday with exotic nightclub dancers, but apparently some people do, as a few guys snatch up some of the ads before leaving the train. Sometimes I have moments when I feel very distant from the rest of the world.

I look up at an another ad posted on the wall in front of me, straining to make out a spindly script superimposed in front of a picture of a rubber duck: "Hope things get ducky... Cause right now they're sucky." It is an ad for Hallmark Cards. This is exactly how I'm feeling lately. Things are bad, really bad, yet underneath I have a sort of absurd, almost comically, hopeful feeling.

Part of this may be a survivalist reaction to Sybil's recent depression, going on three weeks now by her own account. We can't both be depressed and Sybil has the more legitimate claim. I'm sure that part of her depression comes from constant complaint. She's the type who will vocalize her ailments. She notices (far more than I do) things that are going on in her body and automatically comments on any problems.

Lately, she almost always has some problems. So, she sounds like a machine that is constantly checking its status and continually outputting: "Malfunction! Malfunction!" She's not a robot though and is very aware of how annoying she must sound. She's also a fighter, so she tries to kick herself out of her depression. She'll cry, then apologize (need I say unnecessarily?) for crying and talk about all the things she wants to get done. She desperately wants to lead a somewhat normal existence and also has to deal with the vast discrepancy between what she wants her life to be like and what it is for her right now -- and seemingly for the foreseeable future.

Small wonder she's been depressed! Through her awareness and strength, she's usually able to fight through this. It helps to have so many kind people praying for her. We try to do the best we can. Someone asked me recently how we could possibly deal with all this. "Just breathe and love each other," was my reply.

The other night Sybil was stuck in complaint output mode. I should add that the Decadron is a huge factor here, as it makes her mind race. "I'm a crazy person!" she tells me. She knows that the Decadron is doing this to her and she's not really crazy, but that doesn't make it much easier to deal with. Anyway, her Decadron jolted brain is making her spit out complaints when it is long past our bedtimes. "Just say a prayer," I tell her. She outputs another complaint. "That's not a prayer," I reply. Another complaint. "That's not a prayer," I repeat, gently, knowing that there is a time lag involved in getting a message across to the real Sybil underneath the crazy Decadron Sybil. Another complaint and I repeat my mantra. One more round and then I hear "OK". My message gets through. She's praying to herself but I can feel it as strongly as if she was talking out loud. We sleep a little bit that night.

Matt Donath