In the past few days I've felt there's nothing worth writing about. Which is strange, because no matter how boring your life is, there's always something to write about. When there are no adventures in the outer world, imagination fill in that void of experience and you begin having mental adventures (or nightmares) and that's what you write about.

When you feel bored with life it's usually a sign of depression. I noticed it when I went to the beach. I was indifferent to the beautiful sunny day, the white sand, the clear blue waters of the ocean in Cancún. I felt uneasy, as if I was missing something. I wanted to be somewhere else, but I didn't know where.

I was speaking about this with my friend and host in Cancún. She is depressed too. We all seem to be depressed. It's the normal affair of things. People everywhere, all over the world, seem to be dragging their feet, speak in a drawl, lethargy... When was the last time you met someone who was upbeat, energetic yet collected, self-assured, simply enjoying life?

I explained to my friend that I know this sensation, it won't be an emotional winter but a temporary storm that will pass soon, that there is not point in struggling against it, it would be like hoping that the bad weather dispels by screaming at it.

However, there is an influence we play in our own mood. Yesterday I was going to a concert in the afternoon. I invited my depressed friend. She sighed: I was wondering what to do in the afternoon, but I don't feel like going to a concert. Come on, it will surely be better than staying home Sunday afternoon. OK. We went there and had a pleasant time. Coming back home we commented it was a nice change of pace "doing something" rather than giving in to the impulse of energy conservation that comes with depression.

Clouds seem to be parting, and I expect to write more now.