Lay down my burdens.

This is a really dark time. I've sent my résumé to several different temp agencies, but there's very little I want to do. Aside from drop dead. And death won't pay the cable bill.

My liquor expenses now exceed my food expenses. I bought $16 in groceries that I'm hoping will last me a week or two, with careful rationing. And then a $24 bottle of booze that will probably not be with me that long.

My focus comes and goes. Not as wall-to-wall inconsolable as I once was. Just this low, steady thrum of melancholia. A sense of dread that looms and occasionally stings.

I get emotional when I watch Battlestar Galactica. I think that's a good indication that I'm losing it.

Dear Reader, take some solace in the knowledge that I am more depressed and lonely than you will ever be in your entire life. (Save, perhaps, your respective death beds.)

When I'm going to sleep, sometimes I hope that I don't wake up. That's a new one for me. Which is funny because it seems like the perfect escapist fantasy and you'd think I'd've had it years ago.

Well, this has been another cheery entry in the Misanthropy Chronicles.