My book is a memoir that takes a juvenile look at clinical depression using fart jokes
and literary references; essentially, I can't keep a straight face even when I'm thinking about killing myself. The project has the working title "A Bunch of Stupid Shit That Saved My Life." Its chapter titles are a list of things your doctor probably wouldn't prescribe for depression, such as Being in a Shitty Band, Wanting to Be More Like A Fennel Plant, and Talking to Myself. They are all somewhat misleading excuses for me to tell some other tangentially related story, especially this one.
