Sometimes you take a picture that is so bad you just can't delete it.

I've taken many of me, that's for sure. I average one good picture out of seven of me, with 2 really bad ones in that 7. The others are just eh.

But this one. This one! Oh, this one is one of the funniest I've seen in a long time. It's just too bad to delete!

So, I had to share.

Normally, Bella takes good photos.

No, really.

I have a friend who is currently suffering with a severe case of depression. His issues are family-related, but the effects of his depression are no less severe for knowing the cause. I've asked him to let me know if there's anything I can do to help. He hasn't asked. I don't know what else I can do for him at this point. I hope he reaches out.

I, too, have been feeling blue for the last week, but not as bad as my friend. The easiest analogy is I feel as if I've been standing on the end of a deep, dark abyss, looking down. The wind is blowing my hair all around; the sky is a stormy grey. Every once in a while, I notice the ground is unstable, and gives way a bit. I turn back away from the abyss, clawing my way back up, stopping my downward descent into the abyss.

When depressed, the best thing to do is exercise. Other than drugs, it's often the only positive action to take. It's also very hard to do. Not because exercise is hard to do, per se, but because when blue, any action is freaking hard to do.

Fortunately, I'm incredibly lucky with my circle of friends.

Kris is my rock. He's the stable part of my chaotic life.

Working with Mike keeps me constantly focused on what needs to be done. He keeps me on track and moving forward.

We've recently employed Chris Doyle, who is working on ultimateteam.org features for me while he learns PHP. Since he started working with us daily, at the end of the day, we've headed out to throw. We've been doing 100 throws a day, plus a few. A year ago, throwing nearly daily with Ariel Garza seriously helped my throwing skills and, more importantly, my confidence in my throws. With Chris' enthusiasm ("Wanna throw? Wanna throw?"), my throws will be rocking!

I finally went back to ASA to workout. Exercise: the great blues buster! My plan was only an upper body workout, which is a good thing, because I spent two and a half hours there. The great thing is that I finally caught up again with Geno, who Kris and I haven't seen in nearly two months. Ugh. Too long!

The workout was great! Feels so good to be moving again.

Time to climb away from that abyss.

On our walk with the dogs tonight:

Me:   "The moon looks like a full moon tonight."

Kris: "Yeah, it would look great through a microscope."

Me:   "Really?"

After I left college, I dated John Schmidt. John was my second boyfriend in college, having dumped me for a senior, Nicole (who has since married Gaylon Lovelace). John and I lived with his older brother Dave, who has only 3 of his 9 lives left, is one of the luckiest men alive and keeps his guardian angel quite busy. We all lived in a one bedroom apartment in Monrovia, and later moved into a 3 bedroom house in Arcadia. Although the end of the relationship was hard, the beginning and middle were pretty darn good.

I have a lot of John Schmidt stories.

Some of them good.

John had a friend who was in many motorcycle accidents. His main mode of transportation was his motorcycle, so he rode a lot. Since more time on a motorcycle means greater exposure in traffic, he was at a greater risk for accidents.

When John first started spending time with this friend, he thought he was just one of the unlucky people who balanced the great cosmic scales with his amazingly lucky brother. The guy was in three motorcycle accidents, each time having been hit by the other driver, and survived each one. Sure, he sued the insurance companies, won each time as the other driver was clearly at fault, and had his medical bills paid for. He was hit three times: that was three times he could have died.

Just an unlucky guy, right?

John and I each purchased motorcycles soon after we started dating. We took the Motorcycle Safety Foundation CC Rider Safety class, learned safe riding, rode defensively. John enjoyed the experience more than I, and would ride more than I. He would often go riding with this friend.

One evening, John came home in a fit. He threw down his helmet (not really), and talked in a huff about his friend and his riding style. Turns out, sure, the friend always rode the speed limit, but he didn't ride in a safe location. He would ride in other drivers' blind spots. Or he would approach a car from behind at high speeds, not giving a driver a chance to see him. He would assume the other drivers saw him, instead of assuming they didn't.

So, sure, the accidents were technically the fault of the other driver, but the friend could have driven in such a way to prevent his being in a dangerous position: he could have prevented the accidents if he drove differently.

Last night, Kris and I were walking the dogs along our normal route. As we approached an intersection, Kris stopped at the corner with the dogs. The girls aren't allowed to cross the street without being told it's okay, so Kris always stops at intersections with the dogs. I often continue walking, as the three of them will always catch back up.

I started crossing the street, noticing a car approaching the intersection from the right. The intersection is a four way stop sign, so I think little of the car. It was approaching the intersection fast (25, maybe 30 mph), but it started slowing as it approached.

Slowing, but not stopping.

The car went right through the intersection.

Straight through.

Towards me.

I was still crossing the street when I heard Kris cry, "Watch out!" I planted my left foot and spun around, pushing off as hard as I could.

The car missed my back foot by less than 8".

I turned back around and screamed some completely unintelligible curse words, raising my hand up in an angry gesture at the red Acura with a license plate with a 4ND in it. The car screeched to a stop a short distance down the street.

The driver didn't get out of the car. He did see the angry woman gesturing menacingly at him. No one was hurt, he drove away.

Kris hurried up to me, to see if I were okay. The adrenaline rush was fading, causing the sick, tired feeling in my whole body. I was fine, just a bit shaken up.

The incident started me thinking though. Is there something I'm doing, or not doing, when I walk that is causing drivers to just not see me? Do I need to walk more defensively? Could the problem be that I force my pedestrians-have-the-right-of-way right-of-way too much, or in situations where, sure, I have the right of way, but if I'm dead, it's small consolation.

Last night, after watching another episode of Ultimate Fighter, a nominally bad, "mixed martial arts, reality, sports, non-event" series on Spike TV where 16 guys compete for a contract with the Ultimate Fighters Championship in Survivor-like challenges and beat-the-shit out of each other elimination rounds, Kris and I cleaned up the living room a bit. Note, I say, "nominally bad," but I watch religiously every week, Kris watches it with me, we'll be watching the finals on April 9th and don't think for one second I'm not paying the $40 Pay-Per-View fee to watch Coture and Liddell beat the crap out of each other in the Championship showdown on the 16th (go Coture!).

Whoops, side-tracked there.

I had recently rearranged the furniture and moved several pieces out of the living room, opening it up, making it look bigger. You could see the rugs in the room, for the first time in a long while.

While wandering into the space, marvelling we had so much:

Me: "Wow, look at all this open space. I think I should fill it."

Kris: "Therein lies the problem."

Kris then proceeded to show me just how nice having the extra space can be. He arranged a few of the couch pillows on the floor, and, stepping back, ran across the room, and took a flying leap into the pillows.

Although the first shot is my favorite, Kris was determined to get a good picture of himself completely horizontal.

I haven't laughed so hard in months. My stomach is still aching from laughter 12 hours later.