I am in a seriously funky depressed mood this evening. I have so many things I want to get done, but I can’t get motivated to make myself do them, which makes me more depressed and down on myself, and the cycle continues.

Then I think that writing about it on my blog will make the funk go away… but it doesn’t. It doesn’t work as the instant quick fix I sometimes think it should. This isn’t like IM or a phone call — there’s no instant connection with another human being, no actual real-time communication going on. Nothing to make me feel less blah.

I hate these moods. The objective, detached part of me looks from the outside in and says, “You know, Diana, if you’d just DO something, anything, you’d probably shake this thing. Just get the fuck over yourself and your weird depression and get on with it.” That makes the rest of me feel worse about my depression and my general sloth and sinks me deeper into it.

At least this doesn’t happen very much anymore. I seem to recall being like this frequently during middle school and high school, although I could be misremembering how depressed I really was. I know it felt pretty massive at the time.

Sometimes I think these off-the-cuff, unplanned and unscripted blog entries are what keeps my blog fresh and uniquely me. Then sometimes I think that my readership (and I’m averaging 40 hits a day, I think) really doesn’t give a rat’s ass about how depressed I am or how frumpy I feel or any other superficial crap. Where’s the pictures and the amusing anecdotes and the links to t-shirt surgeries and Totoro and weird Mormon crap and whatever else people Googled today?

I think I’m gonna go play some Civ III.

*contemplates deleting this entry*
*decides to keep it for posterity*