I’m in a funk…and I hate it. It doesn’t suit me. I can’t even draw artistic inspiration from my sadness. It just leaves me drained and lethargic. It’s not even sadness…hopelessness, maybe? I’ve been this way since the beginning of July and it’s really ruining the best part of my summer. Summer is great. I should be happy, but I’m not and it sucks.
I tried change…a vacation…seems to have stressed me out as much as my regular schedule. I stood up in a wedding with my closest friends…I damn near ruined the whole thing with my sorry disposition. Work should make me happy…it always has before. I like design. It’s fun.
This little black rain cloud is really bad for my social life, too. Nobody likes to be around wretches that wallow in self pity. It makes people uneasy. Or maybe that’s just my excuse for not having to talk to anyone. It makes me snippy and short-tempered with the one’s I love to the point that I can convince myself that they don’t really love me and maybe never really did.
Why am I sad? I can come up with lots of excuses. I’m 26 years old and I have osteoarthritis in my knees. I still live at home with my parents. Maybe it’s my inferior intelligence or because my gut hangs out like that of a 50-year-old lady. [The last two comments are not supported by fact and may or may not be skewed by my waning self-esteem.] Or maybe because I set out to buy a house and am nowhere nearer to achieving my goal than I was three months ago. Or perhaps because I will have taken violin lessons for almost a year without any detectable signs of improvement.
I need a kitty…a kitty would really cheer me up right now….but my parents won’t let me have one in the house…and my boyfriend’s allergic to them. I need a house…then a kitty.