Maybe it's because the world seems to be so bent on coming to an end. With horror in France, Donald Trump in the US and god knows what else our eviscerated newspapers and news departments no longer have the resources to report upon.
There seems to be nothing to write about in my little sphere of advertising. It's all been said.
We have bemoaned the lack of creativity. The gutting of our industry by the money men. The small accomplishments of small executions that no one ever sees. And the lusting for awards--the modern day equivalent of simony.
The summer is half over. And what a summer it's been, with a mass murder every week coming out as regularly as Time Magazine.
I don't know if the world is truly going to hell in a handbasket or if it's a pernicious example of the availability heuristic. That is, we are aware of today's horrors and have forgotten yesterday's. So it seems like things are getting worse.
I mean on the bright side, we aren't killing 50,000 American boys on our way to killing two-million Vietnamese. Millions of Biafrans aren't dying, nor are millions of Bangladesh, nor millions more by Mao or Pol Pot.
We forget about the horrors of the past. The bombings and the cop shootings and the gunning down of students at Kent State.
We forget about villages being napalmed and whole countries be Agent-Oranged.
That was all long-ago and faraway.
So we forget.
Maybe in 2030 when we are slaves to machine-masters and the Donald Trump Reich moves into its second decade, we will look back on this summer as the golden age.
Maybe this is awfully dark for a post on a Friday when I have a non-working weekend ahead of me, a package of spots to shoot and, touch wood, my health.
So, that's all for now.
Try to have a nice weekend.
Try to dip your toes in the sea.
And if you have someone near you whom you love, give them an unsolicited hug, and tell them.
You'll feel better.
And sometimes that's all we can do.