(no subject)
I am tempted to write this entry in a different language, just to be perverse. French would be perfect, as French is the language of disappointed love, affairs gone wrong, bad coffee, and careless personal hygiene. Pity I don't speak French.
Things really didn't get better last night. I pretty much napped from the time I got home until Barb came home, and then we spent a good couple of hours in bed talking. Or rather she talked while I listened. We ordered a pizza from Pizza Luce, and I went upstairs to try and find my sound effect CDs. I did manage to find them, but it was late and I didn't actually do anything with them.
The pizza came, I went downstairs, and Barb was watching "Cupid" on TV. I tried to watch, but after a while, the giggly vapid whorishness of the whole thing got to me and I had to leave. I decided to blow some shit up in Unreal Tournament. Somehow it was just the right kind of satisfying.
Then the dreams came. The only two that I remember are one where I was a cartoon character, swapping between Homer Simpson and Hank Hill, and the background was a big flashing "FAILURE" sign. I bet if I had a higher sense of self-worth, I could probably figure out what that meant.
The second one was that I was shaving in the car. That's it. I shaved. No clue what it means, aside from I didn't cut myself.
About 5:00 this morning, the dog started to puke on my feet. I managed to get her outside before she actually had the projectile vomiting thing happening, and then the cat demanded to be fed, and the water dish was knocked over. I had to pee, and I couldn't find my glasses, and it was a brief spurt of chaos. About 20 minutes worth. I should have just stayed up, taken a shower and driven to work, but I didn't. I went back to sleep. And I overslept. I probably needed it, because I'm still wiped out.
And tonight is dinner with the Moms. I'm really not up to it, but it's kinda mandatory. I might skip out if I can find a good excuse.
I am recognizably depressed. The Lexapro helps certainly, as I am not completely debilitated, and I can function somewhat normally. But right now all I want to do is sleep and hide away from the big black hole that is trying to swallow me up.
Are my expectations unrealistic? Did I take a wrong turn somewhere along the way? What can I do to make my life better?
The Dragon is big, and he has sharp pointy teeth.
Things really didn't get better last night. I pretty much napped from the time I got home until Barb came home, and then we spent a good couple of hours in bed talking. Or rather she talked while I listened. We ordered a pizza from Pizza Luce, and I went upstairs to try and find my sound effect CDs. I did manage to find them, but it was late and I didn't actually do anything with them.
The pizza came, I went downstairs, and Barb was watching "Cupid" on TV. I tried to watch, but after a while, the giggly vapid whorishness of the whole thing got to me and I had to leave. I decided to blow some shit up in Unreal Tournament. Somehow it was just the right kind of satisfying.
Then the dreams came. The only two that I remember are one where I was a cartoon character, swapping between Homer Simpson and Hank Hill, and the background was a big flashing "FAILURE" sign. I bet if I had a higher sense of self-worth, I could probably figure out what that meant.
The second one was that I was shaving in the car. That's it. I shaved. No clue what it means, aside from I didn't cut myself.
About 5:00 this morning, the dog started to puke on my feet. I managed to get her outside before she actually had the projectile vomiting thing happening, and then the cat demanded to be fed, and the water dish was knocked over. I had to pee, and I couldn't find my glasses, and it was a brief spurt of chaos. About 20 minutes worth. I should have just stayed up, taken a shower and driven to work, but I didn't. I went back to sleep. And I overslept. I probably needed it, because I'm still wiped out.
And tonight is dinner with the Moms. I'm really not up to it, but it's kinda mandatory. I might skip out if I can find a good excuse.
I am recognizably depressed. The Lexapro helps certainly, as I am not completely debilitated, and I can function somewhat normally. But right now all I want to do is sleep and hide away from the big black hole that is trying to swallow me up.
Are my expectations unrealistic? Did I take a wrong turn somewhere along the way? What can I do to make my life better?
The Dragon is big, and he has sharp pointy teeth.
