The fourth day of school. Only one (boring) class today, then work, where they had nothing for me to do, so I punched out and went home. Proceeded to skip my guitar lesson, toke
, draw a bunch of squiggly lines for two hours, then fall asleep. Woke up because my mother called to ask if I'd see them this weekend for the annual celebration of my entrance into the world, and then I sat on the couch for 15 minutes with the creeping sensation of my candy-ass, self-induced depression
returning. Too dark and too drained to read, so I rode my bike for 15 minutes, winding up at a computer terminal and logging onto E2 for the first time in a while.
I feel so much creative energy, so much power when I'm not depressed, and never let myself realize I'm not using the energy to any productive end until I've been alone for more than a few hours for the third or fourth time in the space of a week, when my mind is ripe for entertaining self-deprecating thoughts. And then I wonder, "Well, what is there left to express, anyway? We all know everything we need to about the human condition from our day-to-day experiences." And if there's no reason to be creative, then all we have left to live for is to seek the greatest density of pleasant experiences.
By the time I get deep enough into my bullshit meaning of life monologues (the above is a synopsis of the random gunk that made up my interpersonal communication for about an hour or so) that I start coming up with conclusions that contradict my common sense, I realize that some part of my brain is malfunctioning, and my head quickly descends from the clouds. Now all I can do is laugh at myself for spending all those precious minutes being so closed-minded.