I've never been this depressed. I can function fine, but there are days when I just wonder what's the point to everything. I went to a comic book show in Philadelphia this weekend. The main hall was filled with comic books, toys, artists and video games. And all I could think was what's the point? It's all just a distraction, just colorful brain candy meant to grab our attention briefly. So I attended a seminar given by a bigwig in the comic business and learned much about breaking into comics. But I just didn't want to be there. I just got up and left and returned to the main hall, where I ran into two of my fraternity brothers from college. That was the highlight of my day, seeing people I hadn't seen in 14 years. Both of them are proud parents and divorcees. It was really good talking to them again.
I did meet Jim Steranko, a legendary artist, writer and magician who was the inspiration for the Escapist. He autographed a copy of Domino Lady, a good classic pulp.
I don't know why I'm bitching about this. I should be grateful for being alive. I should count my blessings. I should be happy. But I'm not. I'm miserable. I walk around work like a zombie, my appetite decreased and I only get a few hours of sleep at night. I used to like going to these conventions, but the whole show was a disappointment. I'm finding that with most everything I do lately.
What's the point?