It's a bit of a mixed bag, here.
On the one hand, I'm still outside NYC, still pursuing the flying, and still Learning the Ways of the Gun.
On the other hand, I have realized over the past three or four days that I can feel myself tipping back down the slope and sliding out of the light.
I had a discussion about it with a well-meaning but not very comprehending friend. I was asked, in disbelief, "Wait…you're telling me that you spent yesterday driving your 42 year old classic convertible to the airport, flying an airplane for 1.5 hours, and then driving said classic convertible 2.5 hours north through the state of Vermont on a sunny day, and you're depressed?"
Um…
Yes, actually. That's the problem - depression has nothing to do with 'how awesome your life looks to other people' or even 'how awesome your life looks to you, in the abstract.' It can poison anything. It means that things that would otherwise be awesome may merely serve to keep your head above water, to make you feel 'meh, maybe I won't kill myself today.' It might mean that rather than sitting in a corner weeping, you actually do go drive, and fly, and so forth, but you do it feeling strangely neutral - sort of dead inside.
And thus has my August turned.