"Gug."
You know you're depressed when watching an episode of "Psych" -- albeit an episode with a sad, very heartbreaking ending* -- actually makes you feel worse instead of better.
(It's particularly annoying because I woke up this morning feeling sort of BETTER. I didn't expect said feeling to last the whole day through, but I was at leat hoping to make it past 9 a.m.)
Am gonna do a little writing this morning, but as I'm so frustrated with all my writing projects this week I don't know that it's necessarily gonna help cheer me up. Although you never know.
DAMMIT, will this week never end. :\
* "One, Maybe Two, Ways Out."
ETA: It is a universal truth that it is impossible to walk your dog through a gentle-breezed, gorgeous-weathered day and not come back feeling better. MY TWENTIES WILL NOT BEAT ME. I WILL GET OUT OF THIS TOWN AND I WILL WRITE THROUGH MY GUGGY DAYS AND I WILL _MAKE IT WORK_, *DAMMIT*. Periodic bouts of Dementor-attacks be damned!
... I really do feel kinda better. I am off to exercise, shower, and then make plot notes over lunch. And then I shall go to work and be productive, and I shall reward myself by spending my dinner hour out on my balcony, eating frozen pizza and reading my new Clive Cussler novel and enjoy more gorgeous weather. AND IT SHALL BE _AWESOME_, DAMMIT, AND THAT IS THAT.
(... maybe I'm not so much depressed as bipolar? I dunno -- but whatever this increased bout of confidence and determination is, I'm gonna go with it.)
(It's particularly annoying because I woke up this morning feeling sort of BETTER. I didn't expect said feeling to last the whole day through, but I was at leat hoping to make it past 9 a.m.)
Am gonna do a little writing this morning, but as I'm so frustrated with all my writing projects this week I don't know that it's necessarily gonna help cheer me up. Although you never know.
DAMMIT, will this week never end. :\
* "One, Maybe Two, Ways Out."
ETA: It is a universal truth that it is impossible to walk your dog through a gentle-breezed, gorgeous-weathered day and not come back feeling better. MY TWENTIES WILL NOT BEAT ME. I WILL GET OUT OF THIS TOWN AND I WILL WRITE THROUGH MY GUGGY DAYS AND I WILL _MAKE IT WORK_, *DAMMIT*. Periodic bouts of Dementor-attacks be damned!
... I really do feel kinda better. I am off to exercise, shower, and then make plot notes over lunch. And then I shall go to work and be productive, and I shall reward myself by spending my dinner hour out on my balcony, eating frozen pizza and reading my new Clive Cussler novel and enjoy more gorgeous weather. AND IT SHALL BE _AWESOME_, DAMMIT, AND THAT IS THAT.
(... maybe I'm not so much depressed as bipolar? I dunno -- but whatever this increased bout of confidence and determination is, I'm gonna go with it.)