I've spent the last two weeks mostly feeling like a giant bag of physical poop. Despite that, my mood wasn't so bad; I mostly just felt tired, without any of those sneaky emotional issues tackling me.
It's almost funny that as my withdrawal symptoms are starting to subside, I've been hit with a wave of -- I don't even know what to call it when I get like this. Maybe, my emo-ness, my emptiness, one of My Moods. It's too bright and sunny outside. I've closed the blinds, I'm listening to Damien Rice, and I'm staying in. I don't feel like seeing people. I feel like burrowing, and fitting myself into a small space under a desk.
I'm not going to complete one of the courses I'm signed up for this semester. Whether it's my own laziness disguised as self-concern that I can't cope with it, or my own stupidity, or whatever, it doesn't really matter I guess.
Feck, I'm remembering why I try not to write when I'm like this. I am patheti-sad.
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