I’m at work. I’m bored. Oh, but I should be enjoying this place! I mean, how can one not enjoy working for a greedy national bank? I think that every person out there should get a job for this bank, take some calls, deal with a few people who just got $150 in overdraft fees, and decide how much more fulfilling thier lives could be if they could only get a job here in this cubicle prison; hell with florescent lighting. You know you want to.

I’m still in a relatively bad mood, and I can’t quite pinpoint exactly what’s causing it. Is it… the lack of a car? The lack of affordable housing? Lack of a social life outside of the office? Perhaps a combination of all three?

I got some cash yesterday. Got me a fat $240 check from the clinic that I was going to while I was beta testing their new-fangled antidepressants. Now that, gentle readers, was an whole experiance and a half. Picture this. Imagine that you go through life like I do, in a depressed haze, no motivation, no outside support or encouragement from just about anyone, etc, etc. Now imagine that suddenly you take this wonderful, magical drug, and suddenly, you’re still in this wonderful oblivious fog, no motivation, no outside support or encouragement, etc, etc, and you’re happy about it. Whacky shit, eh? You can sleep without having to cry yourself to sleep, not knowing exactly why you’re crying. You can laugh, smile, go out and enjoy yourself, whatever, and yet you remain on this flat, emotionless sea.

I think I’ve got a splinter under my thumbnail. It hurts like a mofo.

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