Anyway, I am civilized and optimistic once more (even if I did dream of talking to xthread, which turned into one of my complicated-journey dreams, this through three levels of an underground bank, sort of like the malls in Toronto.) And the birds in my soul are singing again. Even if they do sound remarkably like David Byrne.
*The useful question, which probably owes much to Cherie Huber, is approximately "Consider depression as a refusal to feel something. What are you refusing to feel?"