my roommate—who is basically a doctor at this point—thinks that i am having a “depressive episode” because i apparently fulfill 5/9 of the symptoms: “bad” moods, insomnia, self-loathing and worthlessness, anhedonia, fatigue.
i would add to the list:
a desire to cancel my birthday.
an irrational hatred of people eating frozen yogurt.
excessive justin vernon covers consumption.
an increased desire for gin and seltzer water and rose’s sweetened lime juice.
fits of rage, fits of grief, fits of antipathy, fits of apathy.
the feeling, all of the time, that it doesn’t matter if i get up to confront the world, or remain completely still where i am exactly at this moment, in bed, watching the japanese umbrella mobile swaying slightly in the remaining summer breeze that i am wasting.
