"You know, you look like a normal person, but actually, you're the angel of death."

I've been moping all day. Not for any particular reason; it just seemed to be a day for it. The weather is grey and dreary, I didn't have anywhere to be, and I had plenty to brood about. I overslept and lamented losing "the best part of the day." I took a shower and sulked about how I hate being wet, but yet I'm going to have to take a shower every day for the rest of my life. If I live 50 more years, that's 18,000+ showers. And if each shower is 10 minutes long, that's 180,000 minutes. That's over four months of wetness. Ew.

I brooded about homework I don't want to do and errands I don't want to run. I put "Inconsolable" by Jonatha Brooks on repeat and stewed about CDs being too expensive. I moped about the phone never ringing and then, when it finally did ring, about not wanting to talk to anybody. I lamented the pile of bills sitting on my coffee table. I listened to the leak in my bedroom ceiling as it dripped into a giant bowl, and I concluded that my landlady is never going to get that damned thing fixed, no matter how many times I remind her, so every time it rains I'm going to be stuck sleeping on the couch to get away from that "ploonk...ploonk...ploonk," instead of in my very comfortable bed.

I wallowed. I sighed. I moaned like Billy Crystal in When Harry Met Sally. "No, I can't sleep. I think I'm just going to lie here and moan. Uuuuuuuuhhhhhhhnnn. Uuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhnnn."

I'm not really feeling better now, but I'm starting to feel exasperated with myself, and that's a step in the right direction. So I think I'll do a little of that homework, listen to a few more sad songs, go to bed, and maybe things will be brighter in the morning. And if they're not...well, there's always chocolate and the fetal position.