Right over the edge

[mousme]

Part of me doesn't really want to write a long, rambling entry about the end of November, and depression, and everything that goes with it. A really big part of me, actually.

I don't want to talk to people. I don't want to see people. Hell, even LJ seems overwhelming right now, although it's counterbalanced by my insatiable curiosity about the people I know. Just like the little elephant in the "Just So Stories." :P

Right now my strongest impulse is to call everyone I know and cancel everything I have planned for the next three months, and then hide for a while.

Obviously, that would be selfish and impractical. So I'll just have to suck it up and deal. It's what I do best.

I hate this time of year. I hate having to smile and pretend that everything's fine.

Please for the love of God don't tell me that I don't have to do that. I do. I don't even stop to think about it. If someone asks me how I am, I will automatically smile and say I'm fine. I don't really want to change that, either. I can write about what I'm feeling, but I dislike talking about it. It always comes out like pathetic whining, especially since my problems aren't that bad compared to so many others. So I won't talk about it, or at least not in depth. Smiling and saying that things are fine is my way of coping with the outside world. I fall apart on my own time. Smiling in public lets me hang onto my sanity just that little bit longer.

...

God, this entry is depressing. I'm going to stop now. Sheesh.

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[mousme.livejournal.com]

Cowbell helps in any situation. It's like red-headed fiddle wenches: there isn't a situation out there that they don't improve.