backyard crowing
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because personality means something, humanity does not
It is 4:11 am and I am still in the lab desperately trying to get these files from the cloud onto my external hard drive. I really do not know what I'm doing wrong, and I hope to look back on this night and laugh. "Ahaha! Silly young Z. Trying to transfer her project from one place to another."
MAYBE seasonal affective disorder is the reason for the activity here on DL. Depression leads to writing leads to DL.
I bought two books at the bookstore the other day: F*ck Feelings and an adult coloring book. The former is straightforward, the latter is my self-appointed art therapy.
R doesn't understand that this isn't just a diet and exercise thing, I am legitimately depressed. The strange thing is how little I expected to feel like this. I should be happy -- it's the end of the semester, no more homework officially due. I have things to do that are school related, to be sure, but nothing due per se. And yet I can't seem to get happy. Ughhhhh. Y u do dis, body?
I joke, but it's serious.
Lately I've been wishing I were a person, and then immediately wondering what that meant.
Today it dawned on me:
Can I be a person? Or do I need to just...still be a human?
4:11 am - Tuesday, Dec. 15, 2015
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