A (Mildly) Frustrating Mess


For the last 2 days, I've not been able to write a word, or think or feel just about anything. It sucks ass. I think I slept for at least 24 of the last 40 hours, and every time I awoke I felt like a complete dullard. No inspired thought seemed within the realm of my abilities, and nothing moved me to do anything at all. If my room wasn't right off the kitchen I doubt I'd have bothered eating. I derived my only mild pleasure from watching true crime documentaries, all of which I found passively fascinating. What the fuck?
 
I spent the last few hours trying (of necessity) to write trivia questions, and ended up with a total of 4, and they all blow. But I think now that this torpor may have finally ended, which is good because I gotta host me some...
 
BILLY RAY'S QUIZZY(!) in about 220 minutes. If you've not been coming, I don't hate you; you just have a giant asterisk floating above your head. Do you want that?
 
I guess I have extremely mild and infrequent depressive states, but I'm thankful that the overwhelming rule is a sort of controlled mania. And although I do feel well-rested, I could do without any of those days, ever again. To paraphrase a certain unnamed, unadventurous narrator's protestations to Sam I Am:
I do not like that shit.
Not one bit.

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