I don't know if I'm just melancholy and my depression has once again reared it oblong face, or it's the weather. I think it's mostly the weather that's made me poopy and somewhat drowsy constantly.
I've been feeling like a wet puppy recently, the spurts of rain, me forgetting my umbrella ... all these things. Then again, being overworked hasn't helped, I have stress, lots of it. I have so much stress, I havn't wanted to move or work, just sleep. Watch TV and randomly surf the web. It's like my thoughts have feed into themselves and won't let me go. Churning at night, not allowing me to sleep. Simple things, like finding a director for my play and how to write about arts and crafts have been consuming my unslept moments.
I actually had a massive pissing contest with someone. I finally stood up for myself. Someone who shall remain forever nameless in the blogoshpere was trying to couch me on how I should write, without ever having read my work. I found that to be the poorest of form.
Then I'm left to read fiction in the New Yorker, it seems like they have been publishing work about family, rape, incest, or cell phone family plans. I'm thinking of writing something that drones on and on and gets nowhere quickly, just like this blog post, then submitting it to the New Yorker, yes that is my new master plan to achieve accepted writer status. After reading their fiction I went on to read the five hundredth mention of a young writer who was published in aforementioned magazine to be offered a $500,000 dollar book deal, they went on to write about incest and drug addiction. So the cycle continues.
I need to get out more. I really do, I'm blaming this all on the weather.