Another day in the bell jar, despite things generally being A-OK. We’re a little behind on our bills because of that oil heat thing, but that’s not so dire, and my boss comes home on Monday, so this is technically my last leisure day for some time. But I don’t think either of those things are really what’s stressing me out. What worries me, truly, is that this feeling seems to be taking root. It’s the patina of panic that shimmers on everything, the veil of spun lead that rests on my heart. Unshakable, also, because it’s got you at your core. It’s somewhere deep inside, past where your good intentions can reach.

I’m going to this party tonight, which in reality will be pretty awesome but to me will probably seem just OK, just like seeing Phish on Monday seemed just OK despite my best efforts to thoroughly enjoy. It’s insidious – this thick ache, this numbed brain, the pull of gravity on your soul. What’s it been, three days? Four? Fifteen? It’s so hard to tell, from the bottom.

I joined a gym yesterday in an effort to take a healthy step towards weight loss, which, I think, will help my self esteem as well as my depression. Every day starts with getting dressed, and the act of getting dressed can’t continue to be my breaking point. So there’s my resolution. At some point, in 2011, I will put on my jeans without crying.