We're Gonna Officially Call It: MID-LIFE CRISIS
Because, really, there ain't no other reason I've been beyond depressed for going on eight months now.
No, the mood has not improved, save superficially, in all that time. [Never mind what it were like before; it was...not much less oscillating, honestly, but certainly had shorter cycle durations...]
I don't care to blog. Sad, to me, but, ... (Um, is 'sad' the same as 'I Don't Care'? Because... maybe I do have some emotion left...) Well, I do care that I don't care, but I don't wanna get in a loop here...
I don't read anymore. ANYTHING. (Now, THAT'S not me...) I don't exercise. Half the time I don't care to eat.
Or shit. [But, when you gotta go...] Or shower. Just don't care much to exist, in general. But ain't of the bent to not, so...
I just feel in a stall that is non-recuperative.
I won't bore you with all the items that come to mind to write down. Because... I don't care to.
Granted, I get down from time to time-- who doesn't?-- but it gets longer and longer each round... and this one seems to have no circumferential closure.
EIGHT MONTHS??? Something's up.
I just wish I cared what.
Le Moniteur de la Mode, January 1853
4 hours ago