At times I am overwhelmed by the possibility that my super-sized family-value pack of toilet paper could last me the rest of my life -- well, at least until I start a family.

The Sleeper

She has begun sleeping more hours a day. She was always one to enjoy a good nap, but her naps are turning into four part symphonies, each one more monumental than the last. She wondered, initially, if she was depressed -- sleeping thirteen hours a day, not having the desire to get out and do much of anything.

She doesn't feel sad, or sorry, though. She rationalizes the initial query with the notion that to question one's depression is probably proof that it doesn't exist.