I feel like I’m having the typical winter almost-February depression. I’m not sure if it makes things better or worse that I can point to a source of the depression, for once. It doesn’t change anything, knowing there’s a reason I feel this way now.
I feel like blogging is kind of pointless, too. I’m either going to be a typical “woe is me, look at how much my life sucks right now” blogger, or I’ll be blogging about something absolutely pointless, like games or work or what I fucking ate for lunch (homemade macaroni salad, if you care).
Of course, it’s not like I’m going to find anything better to do, like working up my new portfolio site or washing dishes or some shit. I’ll just end up sprawled out on the couch,
reading the same Star Trek book I’ve read literally innumerable times since before I was in Junior High, and raiding the refrigerator before next week’s renewed weight-loss push talking to Amy on the phone for over two hours.
Depression sucks. Strangely enough, though, it also feels normal. Friday night, alone, with some food and a book and my own personal raincloud to hover over me. I’ve been here before.