I have this friend, whom I'll call "S", who has had the most tragic life I've ever encountered. Her first husband dropped dead from heat prostration during an otherwise pleasant foot race back in 1974, only a few months after he returned home from Viet Nam. Shortly after that, both of her parents died of illness, one brother contracted cancer from a car cleaning agent he used in his business, and another brother died in a house fire. That left her with two daughters, one of whom shot herself in the head five years ago after being arrested in association with an oxycontin addiction. Her surviving daughter is in and out of financial trouble down South and shows no signs of straightening out her affairs any time soon. And YET, this friend, this beloved "S", is never, ever, ever self-pitying. She is a reporter/photographer for a local paper and plays music as well. In fact, we just began a new music project together, our first in about ten years, and hope to continue to work together for some time to come. But...you ask.,.why do I mention her and all of the darkness that characterizes her past? Well, dear reader, I mention it because, today, feeling sorry for myself about some relatively superficial matter, I reached for the phone to call her and to whine. And then I remebered how much she laughed when she was here on Sunday and we were playing Neil Young and Buddy Holly songs, and how, when we toasted our great new sound wiith a couple of Killian Reds. she said, in a faux Maine accent, "Yessah, that's some good music and beer!" And she has all of these reasons to be so sad and so self-pitying and so depressed. But she isn't. So how can I be? How can I even justify the urge?