Feeding the Depression

It's all about the warm nights and the saddest skies. Maybe it's the supposed coolness of December that has pushed me far back into my thoughts. But who am I kidding, blaming the weather? The thing about not being busy is that you get to think of absolutely everything.

I'm imagining the bittersweet smell of coffee slightly tinging the room with a nostalgic, homey feel. There's just something oddly comforting about coffee at night. Sort of like how some other people like beer and good company. Coffee stains and an imaginary empty cup later, my mind is still swirling with thoughts. Horrid, unpleasant thoughts. Nothing so absolutely gruesome. Nothing like that. But just as off-putting. I keep on scolding myself for thinking these thoughts. I know how the world is wonderful and shit, but I don't know. I'm still as uptight as ever. I'm a fucking Grinch who doesn't know how to enjoy anymore. Christmas is four days away, and it's never really been anything spectacular for the past years. It's just a sugarcoated holiday meant to give me some sort of false hope. I look forward to it, like a child does. But come the day itself, everything goes awry. It's always the same -- for birthdays, for New Year's. Holidays tend to be pretty depressing. They really do. It's sort of like finding out that your favorite foreign band is coming here to play, then finding out on the day itself that they can't come. Or you don't have enough money. Or worse: that they actually suck. And it's usually the case.

And yes, I'm feeding my depression with sad music and holiday food.