Sometimes I think I understand what it must be like to be depressed.

Right now, for instance, I’m torn between wanting to smash my head through a wall and wanting to curl up by myself in a little ball. [This would be a useful time to have a tail, it seems to me. I’m not normally a furry or anything, but for curling yourself up into a nothing-outside-of-here-exists ball, nothing beats a long thick tail, I think]

I think the only reason I’m still sober is that I don’t have much alcohol in the house. I have a few good bottles of wine I’m saving, but fortunately I’m too skinflint to ever open them. I’m glad I’m not an alcoholic.

I’m also glad I’m not depressive. Because the difference is, I feel like this now, but I know I’m going to feel fine in the morning. In fact I felt almost this bad earlier today, and then a couple of hours later I was literally singing to myself. [Granted, it was a WWI song about being under poison gas attack, but it’s a jolly song, and the choice was more due to having re-watched ‘Oh what a lovely war’ recently rather than for any ironic depressive reasons]

Nietzsche once said that the mark of a superior man was the power of oblivion, the power to shrug things off and forget about them – i don’t know about superior men, but I’m fortunate to have a great deal of the power of oblivion, and it is indeed a superior power. After all, being depressed in the moment is no problem at all, so long as you don’t get TOO depressed. But depression every day is a killer.

Anyway. I want to explain why I’m unhappy right now, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. There are personal things in it; but anyway, nobody gives a shit anyway. Not many people come to my blog, and those who do just look at a review and go away again. Evidently I’m an unusually uninviting person to talk to, even not in person (and believe me, I’m much more irritating in person). Seriously, I know the readership of some other blogs that have only a few more readers than mine, but they’re buzzing with conversation, whereas mine is basically the oddly-hued garderobe suspended in soundless nighttime over a long cold uninterrupted winter drop into the murky crocodile-invested internet far, far below.

[Pre-emptive: thanks, Hans-Werner. Your readership and kind words are appreciated, thank you.]

But that’s not the problem. Although I suppose ‘the internet’ is a big part of it. But then to be honest it’s the people on the internet, and those people are everywhere. In fact, they’re worse when they’re not on the internet.

There are two types of people in the world. And if I were the other sort, I’d tell you what the difference was exactly, except I wouldn’t know it. But I’m not that type of person, so instead I’ll just sit here trying not to rip up my hands putting them through the plastic of my computer.

Maybe there’s only the one type of person; I don’t know.

But boy am I glad to know that I’m going to be happy again in a little while.

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