It's a Soggy Life for Us

Fucking rain. This keeps up, I'm gonna' have to up my meds. I'm fighting it--exercising every day, opening all the windows, turning on all the lights. It's winning anyway, really getting under my skin. I'm not doing anything super, I'm not having much fun, I'm too lethargic to be happy, and with my new haircut, my chick-ness is highly questionable. Wearing boots and black Hotwire sweat hoodies is hardly chic. Of course, staring out the window at the dripping skies forces me to contemplate the deeper reality that is plaguing me: being broke. I have been for so very long, and am now, so obsessed about never seemingly having enough money to fill my bottomless emotional pit with the placating and soothing trappings it requires to keep me from falling over the edge of my mental cliff. Distractions. I require many of them in great variety. In frequent, machine-gun rapid-fire succession. To keep me sane. Food, adventure, travel, new experiences. All of these things take money.

Post-party depression. I never have been very good at downtime.