So I was kind of pretty much doing OK until some shit went down, and since then I’ve only gotten out of bed to do laundry.
OK, to do laundry and go grocery shopping.
OK, to do laundry and make dinner and go grocery shopping and bring my boss the rent check. Apparently, depression renders me a domestic whore.
At any rate, whatever time I’ve spent OUT of bed has been spent wishing I was BACK in bed, preferably with two rounds of Unisom and a red wine chaser working their wonders on my cortex. So pardon my silence, but if you measure my mood by applying an analog scale to a digital scope, over the last four days I’ve displayed a marked lack of interest in:
(… and all associated links thereof)
If this lasts another two weeks, please, someone, contact the proper authorities. At that point, I’ll be clinical.