Super Trampoline sat alone in his 10 by 10 room. He was still bored and depressed. And he still didn't have the gumption to write anything. Maybe that was okay though. Maybe this was just a pause in writing, not an end. Maybe he just had to weather the storm, and things would get better in time and also with the help of cognitive behavioral therapy and medication and spells and getting a new job. If he got a new job he could save up money to go to Humey conventions again. That would be nice. But none of that--writing, jobs, getting his band going again, going to conventions--was going to happen if he just sat there and moped. Even if depression was exhausting, he had to push through this. And he knew he could do it. He was Super Trampoline. He could bounce back from this. With this encouraging thought, he set aside his quill and paper and went to take a shower. Self care is important, after all.