Depression Lite

Sigh. Wednesday AGAIN.

Because life goes on, you see, which is pretty much the best part about it, it just goes on and on, one day after another, and you might be able to stop your own life but whatever you do you cannot stop Time. Or the Passing Of. History goes on, and the only thing you've changed is that you're not a part of it anymore, and THAT'S no fun.

But neither are you an active part of history, either, if you realize that you've left early with your boyfriend from the last three public events you were invited to, including a major hip hop concert that you were just too tired to attend, and you wonder if maybe there is something wrong with yourself.

And you wake up on the futon because you were too scared to sleep in your own bed, because Titan went crazy at the window two nights ago at the big tree outside and you became convinced that someone had climbed the tree to spy into your bedroom, and you kind of like sleeping in the living room anyway, because for some reason you've never been a big fan of bedrooms as hang-out spots. You sleep in them, and that's about it.

And you feel sort of weird about that, that your bedroom is just a mishmash of stuff that didn't fit anywhere ELSE in the apartment, and your living room has become your bedroom, and you wake up from the futon and open your eyes to squalor.

You always thought that having money--or being flush at all--would make your life better, but you find out that it really doesn't. You've bought new cookbooks and new yoga videos, you've bought stuff you needed at target, you got your mother a birthday present, and yet it all sits, in its original bags and boxes, around your apartment, and everything is being slowly covered by a fine layer of dog hair, including you, because you have not moved from your computer in the last three hours.

Because money can buy you things, but it cannot buy you the will to do anything.