If angst and sorrow make artists, musicians, and writers more productive, does that mean I'm a pretender if I shut down when I'm depressed? I have not posted in weeks, not because I don't have anything to say, but because having been sucked back into the morass of depression I only so recently managed to climb out of, I have been unable to marshal my thoughts in any productive way. I want to write, but it's all I can do to drag myself through the days. Even the good ones find me so scattered that I can't commit to one subject and start writing. I am overwhelmed by the thought of.. everything. Or anything.
I would like to say that the fact that I'm writing this means I'm feeling better, but this was actually one of the worse days I've had (as is evidenced by the quality of what you're reading). Today is exceeded only by yesterday, when I went to the dentist to find that I have a mouthful of cavities, one possibly requiring a root canal; and diseased gums. The treatment of all these things will cost me more money than I've ever had at one time in my life. Ah yes, did I mentioned that I'm unemployed?
I'm tired. And I don't know what to do. Maybe I should rob a bank? I don't even own a ski mask though. And at barely 5 feet I'm terribly unintimidating. It's hard to be taken seriously when you have to stand on tiptoes to see over the counter when you demand the bagfuls of cash. I would totally not be above flirting with the dentist if I thought it would get me anywhere but my dentist is a woman, and she doesn't seem like she'd be impressed if I tried fluttering my eyelashes at her in the middle of my cleaning.
Any better ideas? I mean, besides a higher dosage of Prozac?