interrogation: forced agenda

bouts of depression are hard. they can floor you, keep you subdued, separated, withdrawn. whenver i'm feeling depressed it's usually a battle against myself. the power of self pity can latch on good when it gets going. so, what do i do? write a screenplay, express myself creatively? something like that, maybe write a little blog entry, uninspired. i used to draw. i came home from work yesterday, threw everything off of my bed and laid down. i thought, when will things change? will things be different? didn't last long. that 70s show was one i've seen many times before.

i remember a little bit of minoriteam on adult swim, then i remember waking up in the middle of the night and it was on again. time for bed

woke up and the sun is bright. maury lounges around. i sit at the buzzing box. the news tells me that people died when a ship sunk and there was an earthquake in iran killing 50 or so. oh yeah, and matt leblanc and his wife are separating.

i'm officially out of coffee this morning. guess i'll have to brave the store at some point. i don't want to hide but i guess i have to run this relapse out. i really don't want to go back on antidepressants. i swear i'm just now starting to get my sex drive back, don't take it from me again!!! maybe i should write a song actually out instead of just noodle around in my head. maybe i should balance my checkbook and do my taxes.

the chirping birds and the warm spring sun, buffy, bud, and the big cheese. joe's there too. we wait for the hours to pass, simmering passively under the unaligned coil of an aging lava lamp. so sense in wasting electricity. no one to listen to. . . no one to tell.