"It's Only Fractured, Just a Little Nervous..."

The weekend was really wonderful and I think maybe that's why I feel so terrible now, but it's still--frustrating? I think. I just feel really tired and icky and unmotivated, and there's nothing really that I want to do, just--see, I can't even describe it, it's too amorphous. An amorphous blob of depression symptoms. Eurgh.

(On the weekend we picked wild strawberries in the fields, and painted Annette's barn--we took the Quaker driving and he tried to kill us, we waded the flooded creek and sat in the fallen sycamore for an hour just talking, we played with the pigs and the forty-three new chicks--I fed my fish, Levin is getting huge and Cyrano is still beautiful, and we went to see a movie in the theatre and out for lunch and it was just so great to be with everybody and outside and doing all the crazy things we do. we always laugh so hard when we're together.)

And now it's grey and my housemates make me nervous, and I cut my knee and it bled all over my blanket, and I'm tired and I don't like my supervisor, and I hate making dinner for myself but I should do that so I don't starve to death, and. I just don't feel like anything, I don't want to do anything, and nothing is making me happy.

I should call Maria or something and see if my ducks have hatched yet. I don't even know.