It's been a long time since I wrote an angsty daylog. My apologies to you and the Baby Jesus if you could do without another one…

For the past month or so, I've been feeling that my life basically sucks. (And for all you armchair psychologists out there, no, it's not some "war depression"; just a coincidence.) Nothing has changed to cause it; in fact some things are better.

For the past week, I've been sitting in half lotus position for part of my yoga routine; that's an improvement. I played tennis with Jennifer for the first time; that was fun. And my temporary relocation to another building at work got the most annoying person in the world out of my hair; he'd been sharing the office with me and Edward for about a month since he joined the company.

Nonetheless, I've been miserable a lot of the time. My apartment is a mess; I haven't even put a sheet on my bed since I took the last one off. I've been eating badly. Way too many times have I picked up a slice of cake from the grocery store on the way home from somewhere, or even walking there late at night to get one. My weight has been going up (duhhh), and my clothes, which I was proud to get into again after years of non-use, have been letting me know it. I did so well losing weight last year, and when I got significantly under two hundred pounds, I told myself I'd never visit that neighborhood on my bathroom scale again. But I'm getting darn close to it.

Edward remains a wonderful friend, but I've been crying at home over the role I can't play in his life. I don't want to put words in his mouth or make assumptions, but I would be able to have a different relationship with him – comprising everything we have now, and more – if I were the same person I am now, but female. I just don't understand monosexuality, and I suppose I never will.

When I feel bad like this, there is also guilt. What right have I to be complaining when 90% of the world's populace would trade their life for mine in a heartbeat? Unfortunately, perhaps because of what WolfDaddy once referred to as "Catholic guilt", that tends to create a postive feedback loop, making me feel worse, adding to the guilt, etc.

I know that the only way to stop this self-abuse is to just stop it. Sounds simple, dunnit?

P.S. Happy birthday to my childhood playmate, Nancy M. I haven't seen her in twenty years…